In the Dark of the Night
by OpheliaBlack
Summary: After the downfall of the Dark Lord, the remaining Death Eaters are held prisoner in the castle that they tried to destroy. What kind of mercy will they recieve in this new world? What lengths will the Ministry go to in preventing a third war? Abandoned, see last chapter for the remaining plot plans and the first 14 chapters for edited material
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I'm trying to get this done for NaNoWriMo 2011, but I've never written anything so long, especially in such a short space of time. I have not abandoned Haunted, I'm just having trouble deciding where to go next. Don't forget to leave a review, although you lovely readers already know that. Lyrics are from Hand of Sorrow by Within Temptation.**

**-Ophelia**

**Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter is hers, I'm just a lowly fanfiction author who borrows her characters and settings for my own devious plots.**

_So many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed._

_Was it worth the ones we loved and had to leave behind?_

_So many years have passed, who are the noble and the wise?_

_Will all our sins be justified?_

It all started with one word, whispered in the darkest of nights. She thought no one could hear her, that she was alone. She was, truly, adrift in the vast and empty world, but not in that room. That tiny, quavering syllable, spoken as if by a frightened child, that changed everything. The girl often wondered how things would be different if that pitiful voice had fallen on deaf ears, as it had been intended to.

May 3, 1998. The day dawned bright and cheerful, the very weather celebrating the Order's victory. It was just like a children's story; good had triumphed over evil and the country was at peace once more. The struggle had cost the Order dearly, but they had reached a point where there were simply not enough tears left to keep crying over the dead. The sun shone brighter than it had for months - no, years - and the ferocious wind of the night before had died down. They went down to the lake, the three children suddenly made adults, as they always had done in times of peace. The young witch watched her closest companions amble down to the lake with an ease that she had almost forgotten. They could relax at last.

Ron threw himself down below their usual tree, stretching out to lounge in the shade. A gentle wind had sprung up, tousling his already messy hair. Hermione walked over to sit beside him, but stopped when Harry shook his head urgently, gesturing exaggeratedly between an unsuspecting Ron and the lake. The redheaded boy, as always, noticed nothing, having closed his eyes as though to take a nap. It would not be the first time he rested beneath this tree, but for once it would not be in an effort to avoid his ever-growing pile of homework, and for once Hermione would not be overcome with the burning need to get him back to work. This was to be a long overdue day of rest for the trio.

"So, Hermione," Ron began lazily. "Don't you reckon three's a crowd? Doesn't someone here seem like they don't belong?" He opened his eyes to stare pointedly at Harry, but was met by a sudden deluge of lake water, courtesy of his best friend. It had been a long time since the young witch had laughed, and she didn't hold back now, watching a soaking and spluttering Ron chase Harry around the tree.

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling like an enormous weight had been removed from her. Everything was as it should be. Harry and Ron were goofing off and laughing like brothers, while Hermione kept an eye on their antics. She had a new book begging to be read, the sun was sparkling off the surface of the lake, and the ominous threat of Lord Voldemort was removed. She smiled wide and breathed in deep, feeling refreshed as though the very heavens had been cleansed with the death of the evil wizard.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun began to descend towards the horizon, restricting the Gryffindor's precious reading light. Harry and Ron, both asleep under the tree, were not affected, but Hermione found it harder and harder to make out the words until she was forced to concede defeat and return indoors for proper light. She stood and stretched, feeling at ease with the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore and the first of the stars struggling to make themselves known in the steadily darkening sky above. Upon turning towards the castle, however, her satisfaction was torn out from beneath her. In the distance, a tall female figure made its way briskly towards the lake, unmistakably headed for the three teenagers. She looked strong and proud, her silhouette framed by the ruins of the familiar castle looming behind her. It gave the impression of great power, as though she had destroyed those ancient walls herself. Hermione found herself growing afraid of the figure despite herself, but this war taught her to conceal such emotion and to spring into action quickly. The young witch forced her expression to turn blank, locking away any outward trace of weakness.

"Boys," she hissed, pointing at the approaching woman. They awakened at once, drawing their wands solemnly, slipping automatically back into war mode. They stuffed the laughter and childish happiness back inside themselves so quickly and thoroughly that it might have not existed at all. They held their ground and their breaths as the figure drew closer.

It was Professor McGonagall.

The relief Hermione felt was sudden and complete. The momentarily terrifying figure was her favorite teacher and the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, a woman who she knew well and trusted. The three would-be warriors lowered their wands as she came closer and beckoned wearily towards the young witch. She looked exhausted, the weakening sunlight casting eerie shadows across her drawn face.

"Miss Granger, I need to speak with you. There is something you need to see." Harry and Ron stepped forward almost automatically; of course they would go together, the Golden Trio off on another adventure. "I'm afraid you two will have to wait for her, she must go alone. I cannot go either," she added sympathetically. The boys were visibly shocked; they never learned to master their expressions as Hermione had.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke over him. "Of course, professor. What's happened? Where do I need to go?" Professor McGonagall frowned at Harry and Ron to warn them against any outbursts, causing them to shrink back slightly, then responded,

"The Room of Requirement has been turned into a... prison... of sorts. It is a temporary measure until we decide what to do with the remaining captured Death Eaters. We-"

Ron, predictably, cut across her. "Decide what to do? Kill them. Or chuck them in Azkaban. They would do the same to us if they won. Hell, they lost and they still did that to our guys. They deserve the mercy that they've shown." Harry remained silent but nodded solemnly in agreement.

McGonagall's nostrils flared, a sure sign of danger. "Mr. Weasley, I do not want to hear such a speech again. Revenge helps no one. We simply cannot pass judgment on these individuals until we hear their motives for fighting in the first place. Only then can we rebuild a society in which a war such as this can never break out again. Now, as it happens, when the Order went to interview one of the captives they refused to speak to anybody but Miss Granger." She was livid when she finished, but nowhere near as angry as Ron and Harry.

"No way!" they burst out together.

"Hermione, these people are nuts. Don't bother with them," Ron began.

"They think you're scum, remember? Why would they want to talk to you? It isn't a good idea, it really isn't," Harry continued. They continued to speak over each other, growing louder and more animated. Hermione turned to Professor McGonagall, who watched them impassively. The two witches shared a Look; a Look of understanding, the particular Look of two warriors who understood that sometimes what was necessary wasn't always pleasant.

"I'll go, Professor. I'll be fine." Professor McGonagall nodded tersely and the young witch started across the grounds, ignoring the boys' indignant shouts after her. They died off as she strode through the gathering darkness until she reached the pools of light cast by the torches set on the outer stone walls of the school. The castle was familiar to her, but the ruins were not. Rubble lay strewn across the corridors, dust and blood coated the floor and the paintings adorning the walls were empty and torn. Not even the ghosts showed their faces, and the halls were devoid of any signs of life or habitation. The once cheerful and welcoming corridors were now eerie and haunting, a shadow of the splendor that used to be here. The girl shivered despite herself, knowing that the danger had passed but unable to convince herself fully that all was well in the forlorn wreckage.

Hermione made her way hesitantly through the wreck of a building, forced to take detours and shortcuts at various hallways blocked in by enormous blocks of fallen masonry and shivering in the breeze that floated in through the torn walls, until she reached the Room of Requirement. The tapestry that usually marked its location hung on the wall in tatters, drawing her eyes as she paced before the blank stretch of wall. The door materialized and the witch stood before it, uncertain if she really wanted to enter. The Death Eaters were the ones responsible for destroying Hogwarts, reducing this glorious castle to shambles. Do they deserve mercy? Who was she to come running at their call? The small, lone voice of reason in the young Gryffindor's head reminded her that McGonagall wanted her to come. If Hermione couldn't trust her, she had almost no one.

After taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside before she could stop herself. There was no light within; just blank stone walls like the ones in the dungeons many floors below. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom within, they settled on the one person that she had dearly hoped never to see again.

Bellatrix Lestrange.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Instead of trying to explain why Bellatrix wasn't killed by Mrs. Weasley, I just won't have them fight at all. It didn't happen. Ok? Lyrics are from Resign to Surrender by Epica.**

**-Ophelia**

_Can't move an inch_

_But for the act to leave fingerprints._

_Freedom, farewell._

_Look in the lens._

_Answer the question._

_Will you behave as required?_

Even the Forbidden Forest was lighter than this room. After Hermione had closed the door, the thin ray of radiance that had revealed the Death Eater's pale face vanished, leaving the pair in the pitch-black room. It was not the darkness that unsettled the younger witch, although this gloom had an almost solid feel to it. She felt that if she reached further into the room she would hit an unyielding barrier of inky blackness. She supposed, however, that might be a good thing, having a shield of night between herself and the evil witch across the room. No, it was not the darkness that she was wary of. It was Bellatrix herself who frightened her, the psychotic murderer who she knew all too well had no qualms about making her suffer horribly at her clawed hands. The Gryffindor shivered at the thought, at the memory of what had transpired at Malfoy Manor only a couple months ago.

In the time that had passed since the dreadful event, she had come to realize that she held no grudge against the Malfoys for what had happened in their home; the horror in their eyes had been all too clear as they searched desperately, and failed, for a way to distract the psychotic witch from her young victim. It was no use, even if they had been able to do something. Like a rabid animal, she had been single-mindedly fixated on destroying the girl, tearing her apart. She almost succeeded. Indeed, she came much closer than Hermione would ever dare to admit to anyone.

Her famed Gryffindor bravery faltered at the painful memory, clawing its way through her mind as though eager to be free and return to the dreaded witch who had caused it. With a whispered "_Incendio_", Hermione lit the torches, the flames restoring light to the room and sending shadows dancing across the walls. At once, Bellatrix cried out in pain, attempting to shield her eyes from the sudden glare. She was unsuccessful, as the girl could now plainly see, because manacles chained to the wall held her arms high above her head.

"Turn it off!" she demanded harshly. The sound of her angry voice set off the flashbacks again that threatened to overwhelm the trembling young witch, but the sight of that chain holding her in place at a safe distance away bolstered her confidence. Even so, she tried to avoid looking directly at the older witch, remembering the way those black eyes had pierced through her.

"Ask nicely. As you ought to have noticed, you are in no position to make demands," Hermione admonished, drawing confidence from having power over the Dark witch this time. If the Order of the Phoenix was allowing Hermione to be that last person whom Bellatrix could talk to, then she did not doubt that they would place a great deal of value on her opinion as to what should be done next. If she told the Order that the Death Eater deserved nothing better than a slow and painful death, they would agree and give it to her. The girl took a deep breath, allowing herself to savor the moment. She held the older witch's life in her hands and thought less of it than she would a Knut in her pocket. Bellatrix Lestrange was less than worthless; she was in insult to the human race in general. Everyone knew this, all of England had been screaming for her destruction since her dramatic escape from Azkaban. Her death wouldn't be murder so much as extermination, pest control. The young woman found rising in herself a bloodlust that she had never imagined, yet there was only a small part of her mind that was alarmed by it. She wanted nothing more than to eradicate the older witch like vermin and put her in her place, just as she had tried and failed to do herself when Hermione had been under her temporary control. The tables had turned, and Hermione was not about to let such opportunity to slip between her fingers as Bellatrix had when her chance had come along.

Of course, it would be a mighty task indeed to cow such a powerful witch, and Hermione was unsure if she was up to it at all. Far from being humbled into politeness by her chains, Bellatrix laughed that crazy laugh of hers that Hermione hated so much. "Oh, but I am in such a position my little Mudblood. I asked for you and you came running like a trained hound. Sit, puppy. Turn off the lights. Good girl. Do you want a treat? Do you want me to scratch you behind the ears?" Another peal of laughter rang through the stone-walled room. Hermione clenched her fists, knowing that the older witch wasn't entirely joking about calling her an animal. Somewhere in her diseased mind lay the conviction that she was a superior being to the Gryffindor by birthright, and that her parents were sub-human merely for their lack of magic. To Bellatrix, and indeed to all of the Death Eaters, magic is what defines human beings, and Hermione was an abomination for ending up with powers of her own. She truly believed this, she was eager and willing to fight and die for the cause that supports such madness. The Gryffindor's blood boiled as she stepped towards the bound witch, raising her wand to deliver a curse that would wipe that disgusting smile off her face.

Hermione stopped short after a moment, finally getting a good look at her adversary. Her wand began to lower as she took in the sight before her, her rage draining out to be replaced with horror. Bellatrix's eyes were still scrunched up against the light, but the rest of her face was almost entirely obscured by blood. One eye was swollen shut and a nasty shade of purple. She had clearly put up quite a fight against whoever restrained her, and from the bruises that Hermione could see blossoming across her skin it was clear that they had to beat her into submission. Her robes hung from her skeletal frame in tatters, her long hair was tangled and matted with blood, and what skin was visible was black and blue. The Gryffindor's eyes followed the chains on the wall to where the manacles clapped around the Death Eater's wrists, and to her horror she saw only torn flesh and clumps of congealed blood. Bellatrix had thrashed against her bonds like a hooked fish and was rewarded with the cruel metal bonds ripping her skin apart and cutting into the exposed flesh. The wounds had swollen around them, and her ankles suffered similar injuries from the chains that held them no more than two feet apart.

Hermione's gut roiled at the sight. Despite her vicious thoughts a moment ago, when faced with the horror of such injuries she decided that not even someone like Bellatrix deserved such treatment. Nobody does, no matter what, of that she was now sure. With a flick of her wand the light dimmed, putting an end to the older witch's repeated chants of "Turn it off, turn it off..." Only now did Hermione notice how hoarse her voice was, as if she had been screaming at the top of her lungs for hours. Bellatrix slowly opened her eyes again. Her frail and battered body hung limply from the wall with her toes barely skimming the floor, the very picture of defeat. Shame welled within Hermione at the mere thought of casting the curses that she had been planning, of attacking a grievously wounded and defenseless opponent, no matter how vile. It was nearly impossible to feel anything but pity for anyone degraded in such a way.

Pleased that the light was no longer blinding her, Bellatrix smiled. Her lip was split and two teeth were missing, her grin a gruesome caricature of happiness. "Again I give an order and again the little Mudblood obeys. I could get used to this," she mused, speaking mostly to herself. She fell silent for a moment, thinking, then spoke again. "Perhaps the Mudblood would be so kind as to lower me to the floor now?" Her entire, although not considerable, weight was hanging from her mangled wrists. Hermione's eyes narrowed at being addressed in such a way, but she had already decided to release the pitiful witch before she even spoke. However, the insult did not go unpunished, and with another flick of the wand, the chains suddenly lengthened, dropping her unceremoniously and painfully to the stone floor.

She lay on the floor in a crumpled heap, and Hermione regretted her moment of spite almost at once. She certainly wasn't about to let this woman insult her without retaliating, but if this war had taught her anything, it was that violence never ended well. She knew that if their positions were reversed, Bellatrix would have left her hanging, most likely adding further injuries as well. She had, after all, tortured the girl before, and there was no telling what she might have done if Hermione was in a more vulnerable position like the one in which she had found the Death Eater. The Order would be less than impressed with showing her any kindness, but Hermione considered this as showing her human compassion. _We have to be better than her_, she thought. _What happened here… it's madness. We can't lower ourselves to her level, or we'd be no better than Death Eaters._ Still, it was so much easier said than done to show mercy to such a horrible person. If it were anyone else she was dealing with she might have even hoped to make herself an ally to them, but there was simply no reasoning with someone like Bellatrix. Knowing this, Hermione braced herself for the oncoming torrent of abuse, which she resolved not to respond to with further aggression.

Bellatrix, incorrigible as always, merely regarded Hermione haughtily instead of gratefully. Although she released her from the wall as asked, she glared at the younger witch as though she had been the one to chain her up in the first place. The Gryffindor took a careful step forward, timidly offering a hand to help her up, but she snapped her teeth at it in a pathetic show of anger. "Don't touch me, filth. I don't need your pity." Hermione ground her teeth in irritation, but withdrew. The Death Eater slowly sat up against the wall, wincing at each gentle movement with the chains clinking together. It seemed like there were even more injuries than what first met the eye, perhaps some broken bones. Once Bellatrix had settled in, she looked up at the younger witch, head tilted curiously and eyes glinting with mischief.

Angered that her help had been rejected, Hermione allowed her tone to grow harsh. "Well, Lestrange, you asked for me and here I am. What do you want? You have one chance to tell me before the Order comes in to kill you." The older witch bared her rotten teeth in a snarl at the mention of her married name, but her eyes widened at the end of the declaration.

"It's Black now," she corrected. She seemed to say it automatically, it was clear that she had repeated this many times recently. "I was told that I would live if I talked to someone, someone from the winning side." Bellatrix seemed to curl in on herself as she spoke, scowling as if the very thought was physically painful to her. "They promised to spare me. I asked for you, and you're here. Now you're saying that even if I listen to them, even if I behave, they're still going to fucking kill me? Why go through this fucking act then? Is that why they sent you, their precious little Mudblood of light and sunshine and rainbows? Are you here to kill me? Well, you want to know what I think? I think I should've fucking killed you when I had the fucking chance! It's you who should die! You and your filthy, lying friends!" She was screaming by the time she finished, her extensive injuries and cracking voice greatly diminishing the threatening aura that she usually had. The Death Eater shook with rage, eyes bright with their usual madness and maliciousness.

Hermione stared at her in alarm, frightened by her sudden anger and remembering all too well what normally came after it. All she knew about the situation was the brief explanation Professor McGonagall had given, but she mentioned that the remaining Death Eaters would be given the punishments they deserve. There had been no doubt in the young witch's mind that Bellatrix would die for her many terrible crimes, but it seemed like a deal had been offered. Why would anyone give a monster like that another chance?

The Gryffindor don't know, but she needed to find out, and quickly. She turned from the furious witch and walked towards the door. Bellatrix shouted after her. "Hey! Didn't you hear me, Mudblood? Where are you going? What are you doing? You can't just leave me here!" But Hermione was not the one chained to the wall; she could, and she did.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: There's no way I will get this story anywhere near 50,000 words by the end of the month, but let's see how much I can do. Lyrics are from Understanding by Evanescence.******

**-Ophelia**

_The pain that grips you_

_The fear that binds you_

_Releases life in me_

_In our mutual_

_Shame we hide our eyes_

_To blind them from the truth_

_That finds a way from who we are_

_Please don't be afraid_

_When the darkness fades away_

"Kingsley! Kingsley!" Hermione burst through the doors of the Great Hall like a hurricane, subsequently knocking one of them off its newly repaired hinges. She scarcely noticed; there were far more important matters on her mind. "I need... to talk... to you..." she gasped, completely out of breath. It was seven floors from the Room of Requirement to the Great Hall, and she had frantically sprinted down each one. Only now did she see that she had interrupted a meeting with the Order of the Phoenix, who were looking at her with some concern. Mr. Weasley, ever the gentleman, pulled out a chair and gestured towards it. The young witch slumped into it gratefully, panting as if she had just run a marathon.

Kingsley calmly turned to her. "I take it you have spoken with Miss Black, then." Bellatrix had clearly set him straight too; she was having none of that Lestrange nonsense. Kingsley's voice remained calm as ever, but people around the table suddenly looked stricken, horrified. "What did she have to say to you that was so important?" Hermione was hideously aware of everyone watching her intently, holding their breaths as they waited for an answer. Their open expressions said what their closed mouths did not. _What on earth could that wretched woman want with our Hermione? Hasn't she hurt her enough? _Outrage, disgust, and pure, unadulterated hatred burned in their eyes. They wanted revenge. They wanted to see her suffer.

The Gryffindor knew that she, too, had wanted it. As the saying goes, be careful what you wish for. Hermione witnessed Bellatrix's suffering and couldn't bear it. She saw, as if imprinted on the insides of her eyelids, the beaten body dangling from those chains like so much damp laundry hung out to dry. That is, if one is in the habit of tearing the cuffs of their shirts before hanging them by the end of the sleeve. She withstood the abuse that the Death Eater gave her, but couldn't stand to see her broken like that, not if there was anything she could do about it.

However, perhaps there _was_ something she could do about it, a way for Hermione Granger to right this wrong and provide a more humane justice. The evil witch deserved to be locked up, no doubt about that, but the manner in which she was confined was appalling. _The Order would never forgive me for helping her, even just a little bit._ Nevertheless, she knew she had to. She would never forgive herself if she didn't.

"May I speak with you alone, Kingsley?" she asked. There was a sudden silence in the room, an unnatural and uncomfortable pause as heads turned to stare at Kingsley. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed back his chair and stood up. Hermione felt a rush of relief that the newly appointed Minister of Magic was willing to give his time for a private conversation with her, a teenage girl of no official importance. He had known her for years and the young witch trusted him, but she was quite unsure if he would agree to her requests. After all, the treatment of a prisoner of war was not to be taken lightly, and what Bellatrix had endured was most likely premeditated and well thought out. The thought made her shiver; she had always reserved such brutality for the Death Eaters alone and had a hard time comprehending how the Order felt justified with such actions. Kingsley cleared his throat and spoke, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Of course, Hermione. Right over here." He led the way out of the hall through a back door behind the high table, the one that Harry used after his name was pulled from the Goblet of Fire. Hermione had never been in this room before, but it looked cheerful enough, with a crackling fire in the hearth and comfortable chairs before it. The pair sat down and Kingsley looked the young witch over carefully before slowly speaking again.

"She did not give you any trouble, I trust. We took extra care to make sure she is relatively weak and firmly restrained. Furthermore, a certain poison was administered in the food she received this morning, and will be given each morning that she stays here. She is to receive the antidote every night. She is not aware of this, but it ensures that if she manages to escape our custody she will die within a couple of days. We decided to keep her in the dark, which we found triggered memories of Azkaban that incapacitate her better than any chain. She poses next to no threat; else we would not have allowed her to talk with you."

The Gryffindor's mouth fell open in shock; the situation was far worse than she had imagined. She had never believed the Order could be capable of such horror. He said all of this in such a calm fashion that Hermione wanted to scream at him. She found herself having trouble keeping her voice from shaking with rage. "You had her beaten nearly to death. Have you seen her? She might die even without poisoning her. What if she refuses to eat? What if she can't eat because the pain is too great? You would kill her. You don't even care." Kingsley's face remained impassive.

"You know what she is guilty of, Hermione. You know what she has done. Would it be a real loss if she were to die?"

A hard lump rose in Hermione's throat. She wanted to jump up and throw things, anything to make herself be heard, but forced herself to remain seated. It was S.P.E.W. all over again, humans treating other beings like scum and feeling perfectly justified in doing so. _Well, no more,_ she resolved. This would end, and there was no time to waste. "I don't care! She's a human being and you have her chained up and... and _tortured_ and you don't think there's a problem with that!"

"Of course there's a problem with that. It is exactly the kind of thing that she does to her victims," he said in that deep, soothing voice of his. It wasn't calming anyone down now.

"So you want to descend to her level? That's how you want to show her who the bigger person is?" It was like arguing with Harry and Ron about Malfoy, but this was so much bigger. Kingsley shook his head.

"It sounds needlessly cruel, Hermione, but this is the best solution, the only way to make our point. We spent a very long time discussing this when she was captured after the fight." _So it was premeditated. They planned this all out so carefully_, Hermione thought, her stomach churning. She pressed her lips together in a thin line, not trusting herself to speak just yet. "This is the world she is used to. She understands that physical pain means she did something wrong, so we hurt her and tell her that it is her retribution. We punish her in the only way she knows to make her grasp that her actions are unacceptable. Her mind is like a child's; she needs us to help set her straight." His face remained perfectly straight as he spoke, his voice emotionless.

Hermione gaped at him; his logic made even less sense than the Death Eaters'. "I think I'm missing something. What you're saying is, you hurt her to show her that hurting people is wrong," she said slowly, unsure if this twisted idea was what he actually meant. Surprisingly, Kingsley nodded in agreement. "Even if she does think like that, it still puts you in the wrong. You would lose all authority you might have had over her. Furthermore, she didn't seem too childish to me. Do you think she considered Azkaban to be a time-out, then?" Hermione's voice dripped with derision, but Kingsley looked thoughtful.

"Maybe she did. Perhaps you ought to ask her." He leaned towards her, finally getting to the reason he agreed to this little audience in the first place. "What did she want to say to you?"

That conversation felt like it happened a year ago already. "She didn't really say anything. I thought she was sentenced to death, and I told her that. She... got angry." It was far too easy to could remember the older witch's bloody face contorted with rage, shrieking at her from across the room. "She told me that she had been guaranteed to live if she talked to someone on our side, so she asked for me. She didn't say why she picked me, though..." she trailed off, thinking. Why would Bellatrix want to talk to her of all people, one of her more recent victims? She couldn't contact her sister, who the Order decided was neutral in the war, as they had only allowed her to speak to someone aligned with the Order. So why Hermione, what could she want from her?

Kingsley cleared his throat, interrupting her reverie. "We did promise her life, but that was an attempt to make her cooperate. She just wouldn't stop screaming…" He sighed and fell quiet, lost in the memory. _Does he find it a pleasant one?_ Hermione wondered. _Does he enjoy holding this power over her?_ She considered the hideously calm wizard before her, while he considered enraged teenager before him. After a long moment of silence, he said, "She actually spoke to you, Hermione, which is much more than we have been able to get from her. Perhaps she has more to share." With that, he stood up and left the room, the unspoken order hanging in the air.

Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding, leaning back in her chair and staring into the fire. She watched the flames dance for a while, trying to figure out what could possibly have made the Order mutate their core beliefs to the point where they sanctioned and intricately planned out torture. "War makes monsters of us all," she decided, mildly annoyed that Kingsley had already left the room and didn't hear her assessment. He needed to hear it, certainly. Perhaps Bellatrix did too, she who had existed in a perpetual state of agony or conflict for the past twenty or so years. Once the fight ended, the monsters would return to their normal human selves, wouldn't they? _Wouldn't they?_ There was only one way to find out. She stood and turned away from the fire, exiting the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I downloaded a couple of songs off the DHp2 soundtrack in an attempt to inspire myself but just made myself cry instead. Bad plan, but it got the chapter out. I had a hard time with this one, sorry for the wait. I made it longer as an apology. Lyrics are from Oculus Ex Inferni by Symphony X.**

**-Ophelia**

_Damn the betrayers_

_Through twilight, I fall_

_Headlong flaming - I curse you all_

_There's no turning back_

No sooner than when the door swung shut behind her did Hermione start dreading her next confrontation with the crazed warrior. Bellatrix would no doubt demand to know what Hermione had been told about her situation, and even in her weakened condition she would be a force to be feared. Bellatrix Black was, above all, a master of interrogation, as she had eagerly shown the young witch before, and Hermione had learned things that were best kept from her. She remembered the poison that secretly held the older witch prisoner and shuddered. Even now, it would be coursing through her veins, ready to kill should she escape and skip the hidden antidote. Barbaric, but effective. The very principles that the Death Eaters built their army upon.

The worst part if it all was the tiny piece of Hermione's brain that told her that Kingsley was right, in a sense. Bellatrix was, after all, a Death Eater through and through. She was a proud and high-ranking follower of an organization that tortured its own members when they fail. If she could suffer through that and hold fast to her crazy beliefs, how could the Order possibly control her with words? If the dealer of pain is the holder of power in her world, then how else were they to teach her who's in charge?

The entire situation was disgusting; perhaps killing the damned woman would be the easiest solution. She had more than earned it, but something stopped the young witch. It wasn't anything she said; she was as angry and insulting as always even as she argued for her life. It wasn't anything in her expression, there was certainly no hidden remorse or even fear in her eyes. There was only chaos in those black depths, as always. No, Bellatrix wanted to live purely for the sake of living, not out of fear of death. The problem was, what would she have to live for? Her beloved master was dead and her cause had fallen, while her only living family certainly wasn't asking to see her. If Bellatrix managed to avoid death now it would only be to languish forever in Azkaban, a breathing corpse without a shred of happiness to cling to. She had already been sentenced to such an end, even served nearly a decade and a half of her endless sentence, and had only committed more crimes since then. Why did she want to live so badly? What _for_?

A voice behind Hermione called her name and she turned slowly on the spot, jerked from her roiling thoughts as if from deep water. Harry and Ron approached her, their sheepish smiles telling her that they realized that they had interrupted her thinking, a dangerous act indeed.

"Who was it?" Harry asked, while at the same time Ron said,

"What happened?"

They grinned at each other before turning back to their friend expectantly. She sighed wearily. If she told them that it had been Bellatrix Lestrange who asked for her, and what Kingsley had said, they would be furious. They would keep her from talking to the demented witch again and maybe kill her too for good measure. Harry had tried to do just that, after all, in the Ministry. His hatred of the Death Eater had only grown since then. Hermione couldn't let that happen, of that she was certain, somehow. Bellatrix deserved to die, but nobody should have the power to hand her such a sentence. No human had the right to decide who should live and who should die. The war had taught the young witch that much, if nothing else.

"I can't tell you," she said, faking exasperation as best as she could. "I'm not allowed to say it. Kingsley told me not to." She let her shoulders slump and some of her frizzy hair cover her tired face. Seven long years have taught the boys not to bother their friend when she was in a bad mood, and her act convinced them to back off. Bellatrix would be safe until they talk to Kingsley and find out what he really said, but that could wait. It was nearly time for supper, and the day Ron willingly misses that will be the day he and Malfoy get married. "But…" Hermione added hesitantly, wondering if she was giving away too much. "He also said that I need to go talk to them again. Soon." In her nervousness, she nearly said 'talk to her', which would give up the game at once. The only other female Death Eater was Alecto Carrow, who she had never met.

Ron gaped at Hermione, at a complete loss for words. He didn't need them; his face has always been a clear window into his head. _Talk to them again? What is she on about? Hasn't my Hermione suffered enough from them?_ Oh, Ron. So protective, even though she's the better fighter. So possessive, even though she'd been rejecting him for years. He thought that Lavender was clingy; yet Hermione remember him comparing her to the Giant Squid and thinking all the while how nicely that applied to him as well. Harry looked between the two and saw what she saw, a desperate boy pointlessly throwing himself in the middle of her difficult situation.

Harry, bless him, cut Ron off before he found a way to articulate his rage. "If that's what Kingsley said then it must be important. We'll see you later." With that, he dragged Ron from the corridor, leaving the Gryffindor to brace herself and head back to the Room of Requirement. The journey had never seemed so short and in no time she found herself facing the newly appeared door again with dread settling heavily in the pit of her stomach.

The chained prisoner jerked herself to her feet when the door opened, ready to defend herself until she saw that it was just Hermione; sweet and harmless in her eyes. There was still light in the room despite what Kingsley said about the Order keeping them off, and Hermione took that as a sign that she was the last person to leave here. She found herself viewing this as something positive, another sign that she truly did not want the evil witch hurt again. Her stomach still churned at the prospect of being in the same room as the other woman, but she felt comforted in having made some decision about what she wanted from this situation. "Oh, just the Mudblood. I thought…" Bellatrix's voice trailed off as she slumped tiredly back down the wall. She smiled that broken smile at the younger witch, evidently forgetting – or at least ignoring – her earlier rage. Her eyes lit up with a sudden excitement. "So? What did they say?" She struggled for a moment to sit up expectantly, confident that Hermione had good news for her. She did, but she decided not to reveal that just yet.

"I talked to Kingsley Shacklebolt." Hermione took a seat on the floor across from the Death Eater, just barely too far for her to reach in the chains. She felt for a moment like a cat in a Muggle cartoon taunting a chained and vicious dog, but couldn't help herself. She could already imagine Bellatrix lunging at her with fury, only to be stopped short with her fingers an inch from her neck. The thought brought a grim smile to the Gryffindor's face, which the older witch interpreted as something good for her. Her grin widened, blood dripping down her chin from her split lip being stretched, vivid red against her unhealthily pale skin. The sight was gruesome to say the least, but Hermione forced herself to look her in the eye. _This is who you're saving, Hermione. If you protect her, you will be accountable for all her actions. Do you really want to have anything to do with this monster? _If she was being honest, the answer was no, but the only thing worse than being responsible for her worthless life would be to be responsible for her cruel death.

The gory smile faltered as she waited for the younger witch to continue, but she seemed to be trying to keep her anger in check. She had learned, doubtlessly much to her dismay, that losing her infamous temper will now result in her own pain rather than that of the person making her angry. The famed and feared Death Eater was powerless here, but Hermione could not bring herself to find the situation humorous any longer. She watched the older witch as calmly as she could, struggling to make her decision as Bellatrix attempted to contain herself. Long minutes ticked by as the two women squirmed in their respective discomfort. _I am not ready to choose yet_, she thought desperately. She did not want to kill the pitiful witch before her, nor was she ready to release her in society, nor was she ready to send her back to Azkaban. Oh, how lofty and virtuous her convictions had been earlier, when they had been all talk and no action. Hermione needed to share what Kingsley had said, to bear the bad news and to decide whether to deliver justice or mercy. Almost desperately she searched for a way to buy some time.

"He – he doesn't like you," she blurted out. Bellatrix rolled her eyes derisively.

"No shit, girl. I noticed that when he was chaining me to the fucking wall. Did he say anything useful? Something that isn't very, very obvious? Something we don't already know?" She leaned forward and spoke slowly and clearly, as though Hermione was some particularly unintelligent child. Hermione felt her cheeks flush despite herself.

She swallowed, trying to hide her nervousness. She knew that the once powerful witch could not hurt her here, but that did not mean that she didn't want to. Even in her broken and wounded state, malice rolled off her in waves; there was more cruelty in her pinky finger than there was in the entire Order. _So why do I keep thinking they're the enemy?_ Hermione tried to speak again to distract herself. "You shouldn't swear so much. It isn't ladylike." Merlin, was she turning into her mother now?

The older witch's head fell back as she laughed and Hermione cringed at the sudden volume. Bellatrix scooted along the ground to get closer to the blushing girl, grinning. Her laugh was a terrible sound, insane and humorless. "Isn't ladylike? I was raised to be a nice proper lady, you know. My parents wanted me and my sisters to be meek little housewives for our rich Pureblood husbands and to spend our lives raising our spoiled Pureblood sons and pretty Pureblood daughters to carry on the noble Pureblood family traditions. I'm proud to say that all three of us failed on that count, even Cissy."

Distracted by this revelation, Hermione thought of Narcissa, who had always struck her as the very model of a proper Pureblood wife. "What do you mean by that?" she ventured, but the older witch was done reminiscing as abruptly as she had begun.

"Enough of that now," she said sharply. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do here. You're stalling. Tell me what Shacklebolt said at once." Even sitting chained in a pool of her own blood, her haughtiness hadn't diminished a bit. Bellatrix fixed the Gryffindor with a glare and waited for her to respond. Even without her beloved Cruciatus Curse, the infamous witch was a master interrogator and Hermione felt her resolve wavering despite herself. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that they had been through this before, but when Bellatrix had had her full and formidable strength. She was terrified of her then, and despite her best efforts, she could not shake that horrible memory of her own powerlessness and agony. It made her feel sick with shame: Hermione Granger, the failed Gryffindor.

Hermione was spared answering by the door opening and Professor McGonagall entering. Calm and collected as ever, she greeted the pair with a curt "Miss Granger. Miss Black." as if they frequently spent time together, leaving a tray of food on the ground beside the prisoner. She paused and raised a thin eyebrow at Hermione on her way out, and to her horror, she realized just how close together they were. Bellatrix was sitting at the very end of her chain, which was longer than the younger witch had expected. She was more than close enough to grab Hermione if she wanted; she could attack and kill her or any number of terrible things from here. Hermione jerked backwards out of her reach, looking anywhere but at her horrible smirk. McGonagall exited without another word and Bellatrix turned her attention hungrily to the food.

It looked good enough, chicken pot pie with pumpkin juice and a piece of bread, but Hermione suddenly remembered what Kingsley had said, the backup plan that they were putting in place. The food earlier was poisoned; this meal had the antidote in it. Bellatrix saw her staring and dropped her fork suddenly. The Gryffindor looked up at her and saw the sudden panic in her wide, dark eyes. "They put something in it, didn't they?" she whispered, any venom driven from her voice by sudden alarm. "That's what they told you. You know. Tell me." The command was weaker than it should have been, filled with fear. At the end of it all, she didn't want to die, not like this. She faced Azkaban with confidence that her precious master would save her, but she knew that she wouldn't be so lucky again.

"No, no. There's nothing wrong with this", Hermione assured her. Of course, she neglected to mention that the poison had already been consumed, which would surely send her into a fit of rage. Despite the assurance, Bellatrix shoved the tray from herself in disgust and the younger witch felt an unusual panic rise in her. If the Death Eater didn't eat now then she will die, simple as that. The time had come for her to make a decision, and to act on it, far earlier than she had ever wanted. If Bellatrix died because she had revealed that the food had been tampered with, then her blood would be on her hands just as much as if Hermione had murdered the prisoner herself. She would not be responsible for that, she couldn't be.

Bellatrix seemed to be considering something and Hermione hoped desperately that she would pull the tray back. She looked starved, ravenous, but gritted her teeth against the temptation of a full meal, stubbornly inching the tray towards the younger witch. "I don't believe you, Mudblood. If there's nothing in it then you should eat some. See? I'm sharing my food with you. How ladylike of me." That hideous laugh again. Hermione glanced down at the pie and bread, sitting innocently on the tray. She knew that there was no poison here. Kingsley said there would just be antidote, harmless to her but lifesaving to Bellatrix. Feeling dark and malicious eyes on her, carefully watching every move, Hermione picked up a forkful of the pie and brought it to her mouth as casually as she could.

She chewed exaggeratedly and swallowed, watching the Death Eater relax as she did so. She beamed delightedly and yanked the tray away, nearly spilling the juice. The first bite didn't reach her still bleeding mouth before blackness swarmed in front of Hermione's vision and she passed out.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry for the wait, I needed to figure out where to go from here that won't make me hit a dead end plot. Much love to my dear reviewers, especially those who read Haunted as well. Lyrics are from Sophia by The Crüxshadows.**

**-Ophelia**

_And through these doubts _

_And through your confusion _

_Know that you are chosen to this fight _

_Look to find a soul filled with compassion _

_Look to see a living source of light_

"Hermione? Hermione, are you all right?"

"Of course she's all right, Ron, don't be a prat. You think Madam Pomfrey can't take care of her?"

"Well, sometimes she can't…"

"Don't be so negative, Harry. She'll be fine."

"I'll believe that when I see her wake up, thanks."

"Ron, Ginny, be quiet. You'll wake her with all this fighting."

"Sorry, mum."

"But mum…"

"_Quiet!_"

Hermione's head felt fuzzy and thoughts came slowly, as if they had to swim through syrup to reach each other and form a coherent message. Her eyelids were impossibly heavy and her tongue felt like cotton in her dry mouth as she struggled to remember what had happened. After a few dizzy moments, she gave up and tried to ask Harry and the Weasleys what had happened. A hazy mental image pulled itself together of them huddled around the hospital bed, holding their breaths as they waited to make sure that she was unhurt. Their kindness was something that had certainly been missed during the war, and it put a smile on her lips. Speech and movement were still beyond her, tired as she was, so she sat mutely and listened as Ron spoke excitedly.

"I think she's waking up! Hermione? Hermione, it's me, it's Ron. Are you ok?"

"For heaven's sake, Ron. It was a sleeping draught, not some kind of curse. Of course she's fine. Just rather tired, aren't you, dear?" She felt a soft hand that could only belong to Mrs. Weasley smooth back her hair and pat her hand soothingly. The Gryffindor began to relax, comforted by a gentle touch and by a sudden rush of relief. A sleeping potion, not poison. She was just knocked out, nothing serious. A minute passed, then two, and soon Ron had begun talking again as if there had been no pause in the conversation.

"I know, mum. It's not the potion I'm worried about. You know who was supposed to be in that room at the same time; she could have been alone with her for hours before we found her. Who knows what that monster did to her before she scarpered?" Wait, Bellatrix left? How long had she been out? What happened? "She had hurt her before, you know."

Mrs. Weasley's voice was uncharacteristically exasperated when she responded. Ron had clearly been arguing for a long time, stuck on his one-track mind. "Yes, Ron, I do know. Of course I care about Hermione just as much as you do, but you need to remember the condition that Lestrange was in when she left. She couldn't have done much to Hermione even if she tried, and Madam Pomfrey says she was completely unharmed."

"But aren't there spells that can go undetected? I think we should have someone else look at her, make absolutely sure that she's okay." Harry's voice sounded slightly strained. As usual, he blamed himself for anything bad that happened to any of his friends, even when they were well beyond his control.

"Now, dear, there's no need to think like that. Madam Pomfrey is an extremely capable nurse, as I'm sure you have all noticed."

Ginny spoke up. "That's true, mum, but didn't that maniac take Hermione's wand? Actually, I guess she just took her own wand back. She might've healed herself before she left. I wouldn't put anything past her. Maybe we do need a second opinion…"

Hermione found herself feeling hopeful despite herself, imagining those terrible injuries swept away. Mrs. Weasley soon dashed her fragile optimism, however. "I doubt it. She's very proficient in Dark Magic, as of course everyone knows, which means that she is not skilled in more practical magic. You know. Cleaning, healing, other household stuff. Remember, Ginny dear, I told you this when I was teaching you how to mend your leg after you fell from your broom." Hermione didn't need to see Ginny's face to know she was blushing; her brothers had mercilessly teased her about her broken leg long after her mother had healed it. More important than the mockery was the lesson Mrs. Weasley had given her and Hermione afterwards, though, when they asked her how she had healed it.

As Mrs. Weasley had explained, there was a certain tradeoff when learning Dark Magic. The more harmful your magic usually is, the harder it will be to cast helpful spells. The stronger your offense, the weaker your defense. Therefore, she had said, a witch or wizard can only specialize in one side or another, or be merely capable but not excellent at both. This makes the more powerful Death Eaters bad at healing or protective magic while very few people in the Order can produce any of the Unforgivable curses, for example. As a renowned master of torture there was no question that Bellatrix was hardly more proficient a healer than a box of rocks.

_Oh, Bellatrix, _Hermione mused._ First you got me to eat your spiked food (ok, you didn't know there was anything wrong with it either), then you took my wand (fine, your wand), then you ran off (away from the people who tortured and imprisoned you, anyone would run from that). How do you expect to get away without getting caught? _Wounded as she undoubtedly was, Hermione didn't expect her to even make it out of the crumbling castle, let alone flee the grounds.

Ron's worrying was somehow irritating rather than endearing. Hermione figured that she should be pleased that with his display of friendship, but he should have known by now that she could take care of herself. Even worse, it was Bellatrix herself who was the source of his concern. The kneazle was out of the bag, now. He and Harry had wanted to know all day who the mystery Death Eater was, and now that they knew, she would probably never have a moment alone with her again. It only struck her now that losing the older witch was in fact a bad thing. It just had to play out this way, didn't it, to worry over someone when she should have been rejoicing her imminent death. The very thought of such an end made Hermione sick. Of course, it is human nature not to miss things until they were gone, just ask King Lear.

For a brief time, Bellatrix had been, among many things, a distraction, a blessed respite from the demands of the world that so urgently needed rebuilding. She had never asked about the war nor referred to it. It was as though, as far as she was concerned, it might not have ever happened. She did made a number of demands of Hermione but they were simple things, easy enough to oblige. She was a woman scared for her life and trying desperately not to show it, a sentiment that the Gryffindor had known all year. She didn't need to bother keeping secrets from her, aside from the poison… The poison! She never ate the antidote in the food!

With a sudden burst of energy at the thought, Hermione sat bolt upright, eyes flicking open, all weariness shed like an old skin.

"Where's Bellatrix? She's unwell, she's poisoned and never got the antidote, she'll die away from here, where is she?" she was babbling and didn't care enough to stop, panic rising swiftly within her. She had made the decision last night to save the condemned Death Eater and just like that, the opportunity was gone. Mrs. Weasley looked at her in pity while Harry, Ron and Ginny stared blankly.

"Hermione, dear, perhaps you ought to lie back down now." Her hands gently but firmly pushed her back against the mound of pillows. "Are you feeling all right, then?"

"She's hurt, she's hurt, she's hurt, she needs to get better or she'll die…," she repeated the words like a mantra, flailing against Mrs. Weasley's restraining arms. Hermione's head still felt heavy and slow but her inexplicable concern for Bellatrix rose like a tidal wave, unstoppable. Harry and Ginny looked alarmed while Ron just scowled.

"Why do you care, Hermione?" Ron asked harshly. "She deserves to die. I hope she does." His words fell like bullets, blunt and uncaring. Hermione reached an arm out to hit him, suddenly consumed by rage at his callousness, but Mrs. Weasley pulled her back, not seeming to notice that she was aiming for her son.

"What has she done to you, Hermione? You're not usually like this," Mrs. Weasley asked, but Hermione ignored her. She was holding her back from saving Bellatrix. She didn't deserve her attention, not in this critical time.

Ginny tried then. "Of course she'll die, Hermione. That was the whole point of poisoning her, to keep her here. Madam Pomfrey said that the poison cannot be in her system for more than twelve hours, so we have to heal her at night. They gave her a sleeping potion instead to keep her from running off when she's healed. The Order doesn't have enough people to babysit her all night. But now she's gone and ruined the plan before we even spent one night with it."

Good. They can never hurt her again. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that if she was found, the Order would punish her again, maybe even kill her this time. Desperate at the horrible thought, she pushed Mrs. Weasley away and yanked the restricting covers from her body. "I need to find her," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I need to bring her back. I need to talk to her, find out what she has to say. Kingsley's orders." Those magic words did the trick. Stunned, the three Weasleys and one Potter watched with wide eyes as Hermione's staggered out of the room.

Hermione needed to find her new charge, and quickly. The two didn't get much time to talk, though, and she had no idea where the injured and scared convict would head. Home, she thought, but where is her home? Does she still have a home? Hermione didn't know her well enough to figure out where she went in time, but there was someone in Hogwarts who did.

To find Bellatrix Black, she needed to find Andromeda Tonks.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Lyrics are from Listen to the Rain by Evanescence. Don't forget to review; every one of them makes my day.**

**-Ophelia**

_Hurry, they say, for you haven't much time_

_Open your eyes to the love around you_

_You may feel you're alone_

_But I'm here still with you_

Panic and worry consumed Hermione as she rushed into the Great Hall. She had only seen Andromeda a handful of times, conversing with her daughter or other members of the Order. She was often harassed for her relation to her notorious sisters, however, and the Gryffindor was not surprised to spot her sitting alone at the end of the Slytherin table. Passing students seemed to walk faster when they saw her, as though her grief was contagious. She approached cautiously, not entirely sure how she would react.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Andromeda? Mrs. Tonks?" She looked up slowly, her eyes red and puffy from crying. They looked odd on her otherwise composed face, her aristocratic features startlingly similar to those of her sisters and cousin. A product of the inbreeding within the Black family, no doubt. She stared at her as though seeing through her, a defeated woman who had won the war but lost everything of value to her. "I- I need your help."

She closed her eyes as though in pain. Her words came as a whisper. "She escaped, didn't she? Bella. My Bella. My sister. No walls can hold her. She's unstoppable. I used to admire that in her." She took a deep, shuddering breath and Hermione felt another burst of impatient energy. What was she doing waiting for this wretched woman to speak? She needed to find her, she was dying, she needed her, needed her Hermione. She was wasting time here, precious time, seconds of a fading life ticking away... The Gryffindor bounced up and down impatiently and Andromeda looked knowingly at her. She seemed almost pitying.

"She's done something to you, hasn't she? Why would you care if she's gone? I know about the poison and I'm not looking for her." Outraged, Hermione started to speak but was cut off. "Don't waste your time. She isn't worth saving."

"But she's DYING!" she screamed, unable to hold herself back anymore. Why didn't she understand? "Surely you know where she is, you're her sister," she implored. Andromeda laughed, a humorless and deranged sound, and in that moment she looked and sounded so much like her sister that nearby students fled. Or was it at Hermione's scream? It didn't matter, nothing mattered, only finding Bellatrix and protecting her.

"I am well aware of that, Hermione Granger. Had this happened just two days ago I would have gladly jumped up and helped you look. Even more, I would have found her within minutes. Of course I know where she is, she's in her old secret spot from when we were here. She used to go there to be by herself, to hide from the school. But I won't tell you where that is. I want her to die. I want her to pay for what she's done to me and my family." She covered her face in her hands to stifle a fresh sob. "She killed her. She killed my Dora, my baby girl. How could she, Hermione? How could my Bella hurt my baby? I loved them both. How could she?"

Moved by her tears, the Gryffindor wanted to reach out and do something to calm her: hug her, pat her hand, make her a cup of tea, anything. As soon as Hermione moved to sit down she was reminded, as though someone shouted to her, that she needed to help Bellatrix first. Nothing was more important. "Maybe, maybe she didn't mean to hit Tonks," she tried, inventing wildly, shoving down her own grief at the death of her friend. "Maybe she was aiming at someone else and missed. Maybe, maybe someone was trying to hurt her and she tried to stop them but they moved." Andromeda looked up again, staring while tears poured silently down her face. Even in her misery she was graceful. Hermione continued, desperate and nonsensical. "We'll never know unless someone asks her. I need to find her. Please, tell me where she is."

"That is nonsense, Hermione, and you know it." She sighed. "I can't even tell you to talk to Cissy, she's already gone," she muttered to herself. Hermione waited, knowing that every moment wasted was a moment that she couldn't spend helping the wounded Death Eater. Andromeda leaned closer, peering carefully at her. "You didn't answer my question. Why do you care?"

Hermione stared at her, unable to answer. She didn't want to be the one to kill Bellatrix, nor did she want the Order to hurt her again, but why was she panicking so much over her? A sense of dread filled her, not dread that something bad would happen to Bellatrix but that something bad had already happened to her, Hermione. No sooner than she had begun to contemplate this did she suddenly imagine that frail body chained to the wall, broken and bleeding. The urge to protect overpowered her again. Andromeda shook her head. "She did something to make you do this. You should not care for her this much." Hermione was filled with a sudden rage at her words; how dare she question her? She turned and began to storm off in fury, seeking her poor lost witch herself, when Andromeda called out to her.

"Hermione? How well do you know the Forbidden Forest? There is a small alcove where two rocks lean against each other to the left of the main trail, shortly after you go far enough in to lose sight of the castle. You should be able to reach it in about ten minutes. If she isn't there then she is already dead. Talk to her. Ask about Dora. Then let me know what happened." Hermione blurted out a hurried thank you and rushed out, wishing she could Apparate on Hogwarts grounds just this once.

Her previous experiences with the Forbidden Forest have not been pleasant ones, but the desperate Gryffindor did not hesitate once she reached the end of the ancient wood. She plunged through the trees, searching desperately, knowing in the back of her mind that she was being far too noisy for her own good. Every twig snapping or leaf rustling could be the one to signal the arrival of some savage creature, a brutal and bloody death under the canopy of the forest. What if something found Bellatrix when she was already badly wounded? Hermione began to run, filled with terror at the thought. _I must find you, I must help you. I cannot lose you, you are so precious._

With all of her frantic flailing it took nearly twenty minutes to find the place Andromeda described. Hermione stood, panting heavily, at the opening of a small shelter between the mossy rocks, desperately calling her name. "Bellatrix? Are you there? I'm here to help you." An anxious moment passed, then another, before she emerged from the darkened refuge. She seemed wary but limped towards Hermione, covered in dried blood but holding her wand high. Her hand shook as though just that small effort was too much, but her face was set in a snarl; whether of pain or in warning one could not tell. Clumsy bandages of tattered black fabric – evidently torn from the hem of her skirt, which was noticeably shorter and more ragged in the front than in the back - encircled her thin waist and mangled wrists, an attempt to bind the broken ribs and stem the bleeding. She had most likely tried and failed to heal herself with magic and had been forced to resort to Muggle measures, which also failed. However, despite that, she was blessedly, mercifully alive.

"How did you find me, Mudblood? What are you doing here?" She lowered the wand slightly, either deciding that the witch before her was not a threat or simply lacking the energy to keep her arm up any longer.

"I needed to find you. I needed to help you. You're dying…" Hermione trailed off, vaguely embarrassed at the words that fell so easily from her lips. She didn't have to think about them, the phrase she had been repeating to herself since she woke up. Bellatrix laughed, somehow delighted even in her ragged state.

"So, it worked then. How very strange." She looked at her confused face and laughed again. "When you fell asleep, dear Mudblood, I took my wand back and broke my chains, then left the room. There was a girl in the corridor who saw me but I Stunned her. She had a love potion on her, the desperate fool, and I decided to have a bit of fun. I took the potion, put my hair in it, and gave it to you. But before I did that I added some crushed scarab beetle that I had in my pocket - don't look at me like that, everyone ought to keep potion ingredients with them for cases like these – which altered the potion just a bit. It changes the feelings of lust to an urge to protect, although there is still a certain force of attraction given to the drinker. I wanted to see if you would come looking for me, and you did. I'm glad. You see, girl, I'm having trouble healing myself."

She made to hand the wand to Hermione, who had been too mesmerized by the movement of those ruby lips to fully take in what she had been saying. How had she not noticed that before, how very appealing that particular shade of red was? And her hair, matted with dirt and blood as it was, looked so very soft… Hermione wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it, or to brush away that stubborn strand that always fell in front of her eye. Her eyes, her dark eyes that always seemed to pierce right through her, cutting away the fragile façade of humanity to see life as it truly presented itself. How could anyone think her mad, this ever-observant, brilliant, beautiful witch? Oh, those lips again…

A slap across the cheek startled Hermione back into focus, where she saw Bellatrix glaring at her, still holding out the wand. She blushed and refused to meet her eyes as she accepted it. "Sorry, it's been a long day…" she muttered, bringing a hand to her stinging cheek without really noticing the pain.

"Well? The potion should make you want to help me. Get to it." Hermione raised the wand, suddenly unsure. _What if I mess up and hurt you even more?_ She had read all about numerous healing spells, of course, but even travelling with Harry and Ron had not brought about many occasions to practice them; especially not on wounds as dire as those that the Order had inflicted on Bellatrix. The Death Eater saw her hesitation and misinterpreted it. "What's wrong, muddy one? Need a bit more persuasion?" Those words would have filled the young Gryffindor with terror a mere couple of days ago, but a much better idea had occurred to her.

"Yes, I do," she replied, speaking quickly before her embarrassment could catch up to her actions and make her stumble over her words. "I'll heal you if you kiss me afterwards." The older witch's eyes widened at her uncharacteristic boldness, but then she smirked.

"It was a love potion, after all, what did I expect? Very well, but only if you do a good job." She licked her lips, as if to emphasize the reward to come, and Hermione was indeed motivated. Inexperienced as she was, it took over half an hour to mend all of the injuries; heal the bruises and broken bones, knit the skin and flesh together, and wash the crusted blood away. At last, she had finished and Bellatrix stretched, enjoying the feeling of well-being. She smiled, revealing rotten teeth with some missing, reminding the Gryffindor that there was still work to do. The command to heal overpowered her in a frenzy and she pointed the wand at her face. Her eyes widened in surprise and alarm as she quickly made to snatch the weapon away. "What are you-" Her words were cut off by a yelp of pain as the empty spaces were suddenly filled with brand new teeth, white and straight. She felt them cautiously with her tongue, and then smiled again, having ascertained that nothing was amiss. Hermione groaned at the mismatched grin.

"Now your teeth are different colors. Hold still, let me fix that." Bellatrix frowned.

"That's quite enough, Mudblood. I told you to heal me and you did, I don't care how it all looks. Why would it bother you that much anyway?" The Gryffindor shook her head.

"My parents are dentists. That's like Healers specifically your teeth," she added in response to the Pureblood's raised eyebrow. "I'm very, very nitpicky about teeth." Bellatrix laughed scornfully and opened her mouth to reply, and Hermione saw her opening and quickly shot a charm at the offending teeth. The Death Eater scrunched up her face in annoyance.

"There, you happy now?" she demanded, holding up her hands to stop the young witch from doing anything else. When it was clear that Hermione would not make any more attempts to alter her appearance, she flopped unceremoniously down onto the ground and closed her eyes as if to relax. Hermione hesitantly sat down as well, sweeping away the small branches and rocks that littered the earth, which did not seem to bother the other witch in the slightest. She was healed at last, good as new. Her pearly teeth erased several years from her appearance. It was plain that there will be no way to make her look like Azkaban never happened, but every small bit helped. The potion gave Hermione a little nudge, reminding her of the conditions of the healing. Her eyes were drawn yet again to the woman's lips, and her skeletal frame and unwashed hair did not seem to diminish what she was certain was a radiant appearance.

"I've healed you, just as you said. Can- can I get that kiss now?" Her words came out timid and unsure, her gaze sweeping downwards and away from the magnificent woman before her. Her submissiveness surprised her, but just the small part of her brain not influenced by the potion. She cringed away from the older witch while straining closer, itching to close the distance between them but scared to approach without permission.

Bellatrix laughed yet again, a far more pleasant sound than those that had preceded it. "My, what an interesting potion indeed. Complete compliance from such a dominant spirit. Very well, girl, come here. You've done well enough, I suppose." She held out her arms and Hermione crawled across the ground at once, curling up in her embrace. She pressed those tantalizing lips briefly to Hermione's forehead before pulling away. "There. There's your kiss."

Her forehead burned where she touched it and for a moment, she was sated. Then the potion demanded more contact, ever more, and anger flared in the pit of Hermione's stomach. "That isn't what I had in mind," she told her, pouting like a child. Another laugh sounded and echoed throughout the small cave, a symphony of Bellatrixes cackling madly.

"I know it isn't, Mudblood. You wanted me to snog you like two students in a broom closet," she jeered. She leaned back, examining the Gryffindor lazily. Hermione flushed slightly as she saw the predatory gaze linger appreciatively on her breasts but held still, flattered by the attention despite her discomfort. Bellatrix tilted her head, considering. "Pretty girl..." she murmured, more to herself than to Hermione. She licked her lips almost unconsciously then looked back into the pleading brown eyes facing her. A smirk unfurled across her sunken cheeks. "I suppose I can indulge you this time, just once."

She leaned forward towards Hermione, who closed her eyes expectantly. Her lips brushed lightly against hers and she trembled at even this soft touch. The smirk vanished as Bellatrix pressed her mouth fully to Hermione's, who wrapped her arms tightly around the thin and warm body. Her lips were soft and warm, but not nearly as much so as the tongue that slipped out of her mouth and slid across her lower lip, wordlessly asking permission.

Her thoughtfulness and softness surprised the Gryffindor as she eagerly opened her mouth to the older witch, that sweet and wet tongue pushing past her parted lips to explore inside. Hermione wove a hand into her hair (and it was soft, so much better than she imagined…) as she slowly, gently caressed the younger witch's tongue with hers. Despite her hesitation and mockery, Bellatrix seemed to be enjoying herself as her mouth moved with Hermione's. She tasted and smelled like blood, but it was easy enough to ignore compared to the feeling of her soft lips and smooth skin. Hermione's head spun; she couldn't get enough of this, of her. She pulled the older witch even tighter against her, craving her presence, needing her as close as possible, and moaned quietly into her mouth. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and Hermione's world spun only around her.

In that moment, she was everything that Hermione could ever want. In the next, she was everything wrong with the world. She was disgusting, a sadistic murderer and a Death Eater, a shell of a woman almost thirty years older than the Gryffindor. She was utterly revolting, a creature who ought to be exterminated at once. Even worse, Hermione allowed her to put her tongue in her mouth. She had welcomed it, even.

With a cry of horror and disgust, Hermione wrenched herself away from the older witch, scrambling to her feet. Bellatrix watched her, wide eyed, a thin strand of saliva glistening on her chin. Hermione didn't want to think about whose it was. The two stared at each other for a moment until she understood and burst into laughter.

"It looks like that potion has worn off, then."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I know about as much as you guys do about where this story will take us, which means that every plot twist throws me off as much as you. The kiss in the last chapter was a complete surprise and it took me a while to work it in. Apologies for the delay and love to reviewers, hopefully I can get some semblance of a plot in here. Lyrics are from Rule the World by Kamelot.**

**-Ophelia**

_Sometimes I tremble like a little child_

_That faces morning with a broken smile_

_Sometimes I crumble when the shades unfurl_

_Sometimes I feel that I could rule the world_

Bellatrix shrieked with laughter as the younger witch wrenched away, vigorously wiping her mouth on her arm, scrubbing away the invisible taint. "What's the matter, Mudblood? You didn't enjoy that?" She leaned forwards, slowly licking her lips (which certainly didn't look attractive now; red like blood and thin) as if to savor the taste, knowing how revolted Hermione would be by the sight. That hideously mocking smile was more brilliant than she remembered and she recalled how she had changed those teeth only a few minutes ago, how terribly important it was that they were flawless. That _she_ was flawless. A few minutes ago, Bellatrix Black was the most desirable creature on earth, and Hermione had _kissed_ her, willingly and enthusiastically pressed her mouth and tongue to hers… She shuddered with disgust, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the still smirking Death Eater. "Well, excuse me for trying to accommodate your outrageous demands. I merely gave you what you had asked for," she sniffed haughtily.

"But you knew it was the potion talking!" Hermione exclaimed, furious that anybody would dare blame such a disgusting encounter entirely on her. "You were the one that gave it to me in the first place! A love potion! What did you expect?" Bellatrix shrugged, unconcerned. "Besides," Hermione added, "since when do you just obey any command given to you by a Mudblood as low as me?" The older witch's eyes narrowed; she had clearly struck a nerve.

"You better watch yourself…" she threatened, raising her wand menacingly. But inspiration had just struck and Hermione brushed off the warning as she would a mildly annoying fly. She felt a sudden need to anger Bellatrix, as though her fury would wash away the kiss and leave them back to the mutual hatred where they started.

"Of course, that's all you ever do. Obey people. You dedicated your entire life to obeying _Voldemort_," she drew out the name and watched with satisfaction as the Death Eater swelled with fury. For whatever reason, Bellatrix seemed to be trying to hold herself back, but Hermione knew just the thing to push her over the edge. She continued in a whisper, watching those black eyes burn with hatred. "But it wasn't enough for him, was it? No amount of loyalty, of dedication, of worship. You were never good enough for him, were you?" Her eyes widened and the wand lowered almost imperceptibly. The older witch hadn't expected Hermione, or anybody else, to attack in such a manner, so far below the belt. But still the snake had not struck, and the lion forced a smirk on her face, wanting to watch her lose all control over herself. Hermione needed to force the other witch to become the monster she had always known so that she could go back to hating her in peace, as if the kiss never happened.

Emboldened by her fury and disgust at what had been allowed to pass between the two, she got right up in Bellatrix's face, egged on by her nearly explosive anger. "He never did and never will love you. You were nothing to him."

The response came almost instantly; an elastic finally stretched too far and snapping back. "CRUCIO!" Her rage washed over Hermione like lava and all she felt was the burning, everything burning. A thousand white hot knives, stabbing and slicing and cutting away all that held her together. She could feel her throat strain with her screaming, feel her limbs thrashing across the ground, but these were pinpricks of sensation compared to the all-consuming flame. It was a feeling that Bellatrix had shown her before, on the floor of her sister's mansion while she and her family fretted in the corner. It was a feeling that Hermione knew and loathed, one that she permanently attached to the witch who bore down on her, white-faced with unspeakable fury.

The curse lifted suddenly and Bellatrix yanked the younger witch up by her hair, bringing their faces an inch apart. Hermione felt the familiar thrill of fear as she stared back into what was surely the face of death itself, then relief at such a normal reaction. Despite their sudden proximity she was most confident that the last thing Bellatrix was going to do was kiss her again, exactly what she was aiming for . "Let me get something straight, Mudblood," the Death Eater snarled, shaking with rage. "I know you don't understand how things were between us, you'll never understand." She threw the Gryffindor forcibly to the ground, where her face smashed against the rock. She felt her nose break and blood pour sickeningly into her mouth and down her chin. Hermione spat it out and watched as Bellatrix dodged the sticky mass, a look of disgust on her face as she beheld the inferior Muggle blood.

"So tell me." She had no idea where the words came from; she didn't really want to know about Bellatrix's desperate and depraved love for the Darkest wizard who ever lived. She really didn't, but the words poured out and she had asked anyways. The older witch stared at her, equally taken aback. To Hermione's horror, her infamous rage seemed to melt away as she slumped onto the ground, looking defeated. Gone was her usual haughty but wild manner, leaving a frightened girl in a woman's body. The more she considered their twisted relationship, the more despondent she seemed to become until she decided that she needed some sort of reassurance and began to shuffle along the ground towards the alarmed Gryffindor. When it was clear that she would offer no such comfort, Bellatrix curled her bony body into a tight ball of misery and lay her chin on her knees, eyeing the other witch mournfully. It unnerved Hermione deeply to see a warrior as fierce and proud as the one before her, one who had only a minute ago attacked her, reduced to such a state. It was even more disturbing than seeing her physically hurt by the Order, if possible, because here the enemy was herself.

"I loved him." The words came as a whimper, strained and pained. "I loved him and served him and he never gave the slightest fuck. He was the king and all of us who served him were the pawns. The Muggles and Mudbloods weren't even that good, they were the board. They were the ground that the pieces trod upon. For years I thought I was the queen but I was wrong. I was the bishop or something, handy but ultimately disposable." You covered your face in your hands as if your confession shamed you, which of course it probably did. I heard a smothered sob. "He was everything to me but I was nothing to him. I murdered and tortured for him, all of it for him. All right, it was fun, but I never would have gotten into it alone."

By the end, she seemed to be talking more to herself to Hermione, who decided to step outside and give her a moment to pull herself together. She felt vaguely embarrassed for Bellatrix, as though she was revealing a dirty secret rather than describing the love of her life. It struck the Gryffindor just how lonely, or how deranged, someone has to be to turn to Voldemort of all people for affection. As she stood to leave, ready to flee from this uncomfortable display, however, Bellatrix's arm snapped out to wrap around her legs. "Please don't leave me," she begged desperately, all former malice vanished. Tears ran down her face and her eyes were pleading. She looked absolutely pathetic, and had never seemed more human. Hermione could not bring herself to leave behind someone who needed her help, and despite the tremors still pulsing through her body from the Cruciatus curse and the blood sheeting from her broken nose, she sat back down besides the desolate witch. She immediately curled up against the younger witch like a lost puppy, clinging to the nearest being that could provide shelter. Hermione found herself wondering if this was what drew her to Voldemort in the first place; the man certainly seemed capable of watching after people. The problem was that while he had the power, he lacked the empathy to do so.

"I don't like to be alone," Bellatrix said, her voice suddenly quite steady and emotionless. "Don't try to leave me again or I'll have to hurt you." Her matter-of-fact air would have annoyed the Gryffindor in another situation but here she felt relieved at any display of self-confidence. She would rather snog the Death Eater again than see her fall apart like this; it was incredibly disconcerting to see such a figure of power and terror sob like a frightened child. A few moments quietly passed until Hermione abruptly remembered the reason that she had come out here in such a rush in the first place.

"You're dying," she told the other witch, careful to match her tone. "The Order of the Phoenix poisoned you and you need to get the antidote straight away." Bellatrix's face tightened for a moment, then she shook her head.

"I want to die. What else do I have to live for? My master is dead. My cause is in ruins.  
>My sisters probably hate me. I will be imprisoned for the rest of my life, if I'm lucky. I have nothing." The words sounded melodramatic, but there is no denying that they were completely true. What value could her life possibly have? Nevertheless, Hermione felt the need to help her; to keep the promise that she had made to herself. She came out here to save the flighty prisoner and damn if that's not what she'll do, even if she refused to save herself.<p>

"Now, that isn't true. Of course your sisters love you," Hermione lied. Bellatrix managed a derisive snort in her misery and shook her head again.

She tried to keep her voice from growing harsh with impatience, but she knew that she must still convey that there would be no arguing. She needed to maintain this newfound authority without pushing the older witch away. She wondered idly if this was how Harry felt talking to Kreacher. Shaking the errant thought from her mind, Hermione took a deep breath. "Bellatrix." At the sound of her name, the defeated witch raised her head, staring at the younger woman through eyes that have already given up. The resemblance to Andromeda unnerved Hermione, although her sister's despair was felt by the rest of the Order as they rejoiced over Bellatrix's terrible loss.

"Bellatrix, you need to pull yourself together now. We need to get back to the castle. You're not dying on my watch." Hermione was no longer surprised to find that she meant every word.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Lyrics are from Six Feet Under's Not Deep Enough by Angtoria. Reviews make me squee with joy, which I'm sure is a rather alarming sound to those who have to actually hear it, but you get the idea :D**

**-Ophelia**

_You'll twist and turn your spite_

_'Til you drain the sane_

_Cover up your tracks with lies_

_Deceit hides a smile_

_So tired of this false pretense_

_Can't even look me in the eye_

Bellatrix had already made it quite clear that she did not want to go back to the castle, but that was no reason to go completely limp when someone is trying to drag her back there and save her life. Downright rude, really, when one gets down to it. Hermione tried to pull her to her feet, pushing the older witch out of the shelter and onto the path in the forest. She did not fight put up a fight or resist, which scared the Gryffindor more than she was ready to admit. The Dark witch's apathy was almost as terrifying as her rage, but Hermione had already tried angering her and now had a broken nose to thank for it. Bellatrix was, even after being out of jail for a year and a half, emaciated and very light, but her height made dragging her along a challenge nonetheless. Hermione struggled for another few minutes before coming to a stop.

"Come on, Bellatrix!" she finally shouted in frustration. "We need to get you to the castle."

She turned her head to look at the source of the sound, staring as though not understanding why someone was holding her up. "Your face is all bloody," she said in a blank voice. It was clear that she had no interest in her surroundings and seemed unconcerned by the fact that she was the one who injured the younger witch in the first place. Rolling her eyes, Hermione tugged Bellatrix's wand out of her pocket, even more alarming than before in her lack of resistance. No longer supported, she fell to the ground and lay motionless, a six-foot tall rag doll. With a few waves of the wand and muttered spells, Hermione's nose was healed and cleaned just as Bellatrix's wounds were several minutes ago. The girl looked back down at the woman on the ground.

"You coming?"

"No. I don't want to go back. I want to stay here and die."

Hermione sighed sadly, feeling her heart go out to the defeated witch despite herself. Without her master she was nothing, at least in her own eyes. It was a disturbing thought. Hermione fervently hoped that she would never become so attached to anyone that her will to live would die with them. She crouched down beside the miserable woman, struggling to find soothing words. "Do you really think this is what he would have wanted for you, Bellatrix?"

"Yes. I've failed him. He kills those who fail him." Her voice remained perfectly flat and emotionless, as if she had taken Veritaserum. Or as if she had already died.

This threw Hermione for a loop. "How have you done that? You fought as hard as you could until the end." She hoped that this might appeal to the Pureblood's insatiable pride, but she did not seem to care.

"I didn't save him. I couldn't come to his aid this time." To her growing horror, Bellatrix began to sob again, emotion flooding back at the mention of her dead master and overwhelming her. This time, Hermione tentatively reached out to her and put an arm around her thin shoulders. Bellatrix clung tightly to her, all enmity forgotten in her despair, burying her face in Hermione's neck and shaking with misery. "I didn't save him. I didn't save him. I've failed him," she choked. "I'm the worst servant he's ever seen. I didn't save him. He's gone and he won't come back this time. I loved him. I still love him. I didn't save him."

The words spewed forth as Hermione held her, rocking the witch soothingly back and forth. She hesitated, and then gently stroked the wild hair, but nothing would calm her. Bellatrix was absolutely hysterical, her words stifled by her endless tears. "He needed me but I couldn't do anything. I wasn't there for him and I didn't save him. Now he's dead and I should be too. Leave me alone." She pushed weakly against the arms wrapped around her, but Hermione held tight and she soon gave up. She continued to mourn loudly as the Gryffindor desperately wondered how to get her up to the castle. The more the Death Eater wished for death the more the Muggle-born wanted to save her. Not to spite her, but to help her. Hermione was filled with a sudden desire to make her see what there was to live for, to see the beauty of the world, untainted by the evil wizard who had been her whole life for so long.

Bellatrix did not seem to notice as Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at her. "_Stupefy_." A flash of bright red light and she fell limp, her sobs suddenly ceasing. Silence filled the air, blessed silence. She heaved her to her feet and began to half-drag, half-carry the limp form to the castle. There was not much time.

Professor McGonagall met her student at the door leading to the Entrance Hall, arms crossed and lips pursed. Any other student seeing her like this would have beaten a hasty retreat, but Hermione was glad to see someone waiting for her. Her arms burned from carrying the witch so far. "Andromeda Tonks told me where you had gone, Miss Granger. She wanted to know why you wanted to save her sister and I must confess that I am curious too." Her eyes swept up and down, noting the bloodstains on the younger witch's clothes, the twigs caught in her hair, and the way her arms trembled from carrying Bellatrix. "What makes her worth all this trouble to protect her?" She looked Hermione in the eyes and her face softened. "You can't save her, you know. She was sentenced to death following her escape attempt. She is just too much of a liability."

Hermione nearly dropped her at the news. She was glad that Bellatrix was unconscious; if she had been awake then she would have eagerly agreed to the sentence. Hermione was certain, however, that deep down she still wanted to live. The vicious Death Eater had fought too hard for too long to consider her own life so easily tossed aside, regardless of how miserable and worthless she felt at the moment. Hermione had to convince McGonagall to reconsider, but what words have ever swayed that woman? Perhaps it was not so good that Bellatrix could not speak after all; her tears would move anyone but Voldemort. A terrible irony, as he would be the only one who could stop them.

"Professor, please. Of course she escaped the castle, of course she did. You saw what they did to her."

McGonagall hesitated. "I have not seen it nor did I partake in it, but I have heard… things." She looked uneasy. "It is my understanding that it was undeservedly brutal, even for a witch such as this. However, she seems to be in perfect health now."

Hermione blushed, hurrying to explain herself without actually giving any explanation at all. "I healed her. She's still poisoned, though. She needs help straight away, professor." Behind her glasses McGonagall's eyes widened, a sight as rarely seen as Bellatrix crying. It seemed that Hermione had stumbled upon many wonders today.

"Miss Granger, I would have thought you would bring the antidote with you when you went to find her. Come. We'll bring her to the hospital wing at once and then see what to do after." Seeing the young witch hesitate, she added, "I assure you she will not be subjected to the same treatment she received before. I will not allow that for anyone."

Hermione felt incredibly relieved. Bellatrix was safe now, just as the Gryffindor had hoped. Professor McGonagall flicked her wand and the Death Eater was lifted from her tired arms, floating forward on her own. Her wild hair and the hem of her torn dress trailed along the ground as she moved eerily ahead. McGonagall looked down at Hermione. "I'll see her safely to the hospital wing, Miss Granger. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have been searching the castle for you all day. They are quite worried. Perhaps you ought to talk to them."

She nodded, glancing at Bellatrix one more time. She would be safe now, of that one could be certain. Hermione made her way through the winding halls of Hogwarts, noting that much of the rubble had been hastily pushed up against the walls, until she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor. The familiar painting was oddly calming and Hermione smiled at her without quite knowing why. She looked back at the brown-haired witch. "Nice to see you again. Password?" Of course, Hermione did not know it. She sighed, frustrated, and made to turn back towards the Great Hall when a voice behind her called out her name.

"Hermione! Blimey, it's nice to see you." It was Dean who had spoken; he and Seamus climbed from the portrait hole with their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. The witch smiled, pleased to see her two housemates safe and happy. It had been so long since any of them had really felt secure in the castle. She hugged each of the boys, who seemed rather taken aback by her sudden friendliness – Hermione Granger was by no means the casual hugging type – but embraced her back.

"Have either of you seen Harry and Ron?" Hermione asked as she stepped away. Seamus shook his head, smirking.

"Well excuse us, then. And here I thought you were so happy to see me and Dean, but you barely want to stop and say hello." Dean laughed. Hermione did too; it is so easy to relax around these two. They were always easygoing, unlike Harry and Ron who always needed a mystery to solve or needed help doing something. They were not unlike Fred and George in that manner. Fred. She felt the smile slide off her face at the thought of him, still and cold on the floor. He will never pull another prank. He will never laugh again, or make those around him laugh. The memory of her dead friend, removed from this world so quickly and cruelly, brought tears to her eyes, something Dean and Seamus did not fail to notice.

"I know it's been hard, Hermione," Dean said seriously. He did not need to ask what was wrong. The same thoughts have been plaguing them all for years. Hermione wondered if any of them would ever be free of the taint that the war left.

"It's not fair," she whispered. "We should be just a bunch of kids. We should be worried about our grades, not our lives. It shouldn't have to be this way."

Seamus nodded. "We know, Hermione. But the war is over." Is it? "Things will get better from here."

Hermione slowly wiped the tears from her eyes. "Thanks, guys. I need to find Harry and Ron, though. McGonagall said they were looking for me." She started down the corridor, leaving the boys behind. They had been perfectly happy when the witch had arrived and now she had left them upset, just as she did when she found Bellatrix in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione sighed dejectedly. Everyone she came in contact with seemed worse off after she found them. She trailed down the stairs, every step heavier than the last. Exhausted, she decided to go straight to bed after talking to Harry and Ron. Perhaps things would look brighter in the morning.

There was an angry babble of voices coming from the Great Hall when she slouched around the corner. Her heart, already heavy, instantly sunk further in her chest. What could possibly be going on now? Ginny was the first to saw the Gryffindor lurking near the door and motioned for Hermione to join her. She cautiously stepped into the Hall, glancing around at the crowd. "What's going on here?" she asked wearily.

The room fell silent.

Everyone exchanged glances, carefully avoiding looking at Hermione. Her chest felt constricted with fear. Did they find out how much she had helped Bellatrix, a notorious Death Eater? Were they about to kill her? They did, they were, she was certain of it. Hermione's breath came in short gasps, anticipating an attack. Would she ever allow herself to fully relax? Finally, Kingsley turned to look at her. He was always the bearer of bad news, and this time he did not disappoint.

"Hermione. There is much to be done to repair this country after what the Death Eaters," he pronounced the words with deepest contempt, "have done to it. One of those things is that you must be married, and quickly." Hermione blinked once, then twice, uncertain if she had heard properly. "Please sit down. We have a great deal to explain."

But she didn't want to sit down. All she wanted was to burn up, right there, under the scorching looks of everyone in the Great Hall. Hermione did not want to get married. Panic welled up in her, and then despair at what the Ministry was proposing. Everything that she had dealt with all day – the past several days – seemed to crash down on her at once, overwhelming her. All she wanted at that moment was, like Bellatrix, to die. To fade from existence where nobody would ask her to do anything for them again.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: That has been a long time, guys. Sorry. I've been spending much of my time reading and writing as part of potter-rp on Tumblr, where I play Hermione. There is some nice Bellamione smut there written by myself and Bellatrix's RPer, if you are interested. Lyrics are from Surrender to the Sea by Todesbonden.**

**- Ophelia**

_My desperation stalls me_

_Each move a fighting chance to see_

_Through veils of burning water_

_Dark seas envelop me_

Hermione couldn't tell for sure why these words hit her as hard as they did. Ginny was at her elbow so quickly that it seemed she Apparated there, trying to pull the older witch to a bench where she could sit without looking like her knees collapsed, as she thought they might. "I'm not sure of this either, Hermione, but Kingsley has a reason for this, I know he does. Just – just try and hear him out first. You're smart, you'll understand where he's coming from," she pled. She seemed terrified, as if she thought her friend would lash out at her. The thought surprised Hermione; Ginny had always been a very close friend to her. They always shared her room in the Burrow; Hermione had given her advice on how to get with Harry; she had laughed with her about Ron's many misadventures. Hermione could never hurt Ginny, no more than she could harm Harry or Ron. The three of them were as family.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Miss Granger, a decision has been made by the Ministry of Magic in an attempt to keep another war from breaking loose. Please understand that we did not make such a choice lightly, but we had no other option."

Mrs. Weasley cut across her angrily. "This is an outrage. You think you can just dictate who gets married to whom? You think this is the best way to avoid more fighting? Why not punish the ones responsible for causing such terror and death? Kill the Death Eaters, do not punish our Hermione."

Mr. Weasley nodded in agreement. "These people killed my son. Your idea of vengeance is having them marry a girl as close as my daughter? Who are we attacking here?" His words were touching, but Hermione's head pounded as more and more people began shouting. Her head spun back and forth like an owl's in a desperate attempt to keep her eyes on the speaker, but there were too many. It grew louder and angrier in the room until Hermione stood up, trembling slightly.

"Hey! What are you talking about? Kingsley?" She stared at him, imploring. Hermione had an idea of what must be happening, but wanted him spell it out. Surely he wasn't thinking what she was thinking. It was utter madness.

"Hermione," he began in his deep, soothing voice. She had grown to dread the very sound of it over the past day, after hearing him give so much unpleasant news. "Tell me, what was the motive behind the Death Eaters in the first place?"

So he was going to make her figure it out herself, as if that would make it a more reasonable conclusion. If more than one person had the same idea, then it would probably be a more logical solution that anybody could see. Hermione thought she knew where this was going but refused to play along. She stood up, feeling the room's gaze upon her intensify. "Well, look at the name. They sought to conquer death." She tried to keep her tone as smooth and even as his, but her voice shook. The Gryffindor cursed it inwardly, but was somehow able to keep her expression blank.

He narrowed his eyes slightly but continued without displaying any further signs of anger. "Come on, Hermione. I know you don't like the idea but it is no surprise that they hoped to rid England of all Muggle-borns and enslave the Muggles. To them, there is no greater disgrace than being in any kind of relation with such people. People like you, people better than them but who they refuse to acknowledge as such." He paused, clearly hoping to cheer the witch with his praise. She shook her head frantically. It was clear what he wanted to say next, but they could not be true if he did not say them. They simply could not. He drew himself up straighter and continued. "It would humble them to marry those that they falsely consider less than themselves."

Chaos broke out across the room again. Hermione couldn't begin to identify who said what as everyone present began shouting at once, different voices screaming the same opinions. She sank back into her seat on the bench, stuffing her hands into her pockets to hide their shaking.

"You would let a bloody Death Eater marry our Hermione?!"

"Are you mad?! They would tear her apart! No offence, Hermione…"

"What?! You call this a solution?!"

"Hermione is one of our best friends! You would offer her up as a sacrifice?!"

"How could you agree on this?! Don't do it, Hermione! This is outrageous!"

Kingsley stood in the onslaught, calmly bearing the abuse hurled at him and the general Ministry of Magic for coming up with such a scheme. The girl was quiet as well, but his words had not really sunk in yet. He wanted her to marry a Death Eater. Best-case scenario, they would realize that she, with her inferior Muggle blood, was no different from them. Worst-case scenario, they would merely be ashamed to have her for a wife and not want to draw attention to themselves. The Ministry did not seem to consider or even care about the all too likely chance that they would simply torture her to death and be rid of their forced wife.

At last, Hermione had heard enough and stood up again, silence falling over the room. She turned to Kingsley. "You people want to decide on my entire future. At least tell me that I get to choose which bigoted murderer I'm forced to spend my life with." Her voice was as acidic as she could make it, abandoning keeping it flat and empty. Maybe she should pick Bellatrix, just to watch them squirm. Bellatrix and Hermione Black. It had a nice ring to it, but she would be a stain on the Gryffindor's future that she would never be able to shake off. After her death – and Hermione felt sure after seeing her break down today that she would soon be dead – she would never escape whispers of being a widow to the infamous psychopath. How surprised they would be when Bellatrix killed herself instead of her Muggle-born wife, though.

Professor McGonagall spoke again, her voice full of contempt. "Of course you don't, Miss Granger. That would make sense, which is not the purpose behind this endeavor." Kingsley frowned at her but refused to let his tone match hers.

"There is only one Death Eater within twenty years of your age, Hermione: the Malfoy boy. It seemed to be an obvious choice, and a logical one. _Logic_, Minerva. That is the driving force behind our plan. We will pass a law declaring that any unmarried Death Eater with the Dark Mark who is not incarcerated in Azkaban must wed a Muggle-born. Failure to comply will result in their imprisonment until they agree to marry. It is quite simple, really. They will have a week to make their choice and a month to wed, and that will be the end of it." His tone brooked no argument.

Hermione closed her eyes, overcome with exhaustion. Were they serious? They wanted her to marry Draco Malfoy, the nasty little ferret? It was a terrible irony; she was half considering his aunt only a minute ago. Marry him? Spend the rest of her life with a man she hated to make a political point? Furthermore, to punish a boy who had suffered greatly for trying to maintain his humanity in the midst of a war? There was no logic here, and certainly no justice.

Hermione could see it clearly in her head, the two of them on their wedding day. She could see herself as if through another body, resplendent in a flowing white gown, face hidden by an intricate lace veil. Draco would stand beside her, looking regal in his dress robes, which for some reason appeared colorless. There were flowers on every surface and both of their parents were sobbing in the front rows, out of joy or misery she could not tell. Hermione saw herself turn to behold the man she was ordered to be bonded to. The more Hermione looked at him the more he seemed to fade, until he vanished and was replaced with Bellatrix, still wearing his odd robes. The pair of them stepped forward to say the vows and the Death Eater collapsed, dead. Hermione watched herself screaming as she beheld the corpse, to which she was now lawfully wed.

"No," she whispered, but nobody in the wedding party seemed to hear. Everyone was clapping; rejoicing in what they were sure was a political victory. "No." She opened her eyes again.

Everybody had gone, aside from Ginny, who seemed to be asleep. Hermione looked around wildly, unsure of what had happened, failing to notice how the stars had come out in the enchanted ceiling above them. "Gin," she whispered. Why was she asleep? Her eyes opened blearily as she peered at her friend.

"Oh, you're awake, 'Mione. We thought you fainted but Mum said you were just tired and fell asleep. I stayed with you." She yawned and stretched like a cat, blinking the sleep from her eyes. "You still don't look well. You all right? Of course you aren't, nobody would be after news like that. Let's head up to the dormitories, ok?" She stood and held out her hand, which Hermione stared at as if it was a tree branch growing out of her arm. It was alive and whole, which seemed alien after such a dream.

She took a deep breath, an attempt to steady herself. It didn't work. Hermione grasped Ginny's proffered hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. "Yeah, Ginny. I just had an odd dream." She considered telling her about it, but soon decided against it. Half of the dream was forgotten by the time they reached the Fat Lady, but the image of Bellatrix's dead and lifeless eyes boring into the Gryffindor seemed imprinted on her brain. She shivered and climbed through behind Ginny.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: You dear readers seemed confused by the last chapter so I thought I might clear some things up. The sequence in which Hermione imagined her wedding was when she fell asleep; she began dreaming about halfway through it. She did not faint, she is not sick, she was just tired. Also, she is without a doubt engaged to Draco, not Bellatrix. Don't worry; this is still a Bellamione story and there will be femslash. Thank you for all your reviews, they are great. Lyrics are from Sensorium by Epica.**

**-Ophelia**

_Our future has already been written by us alone_

_But we don't grasp the meaning_

_Of our programmed course of life._

_Our future has already been wasted by us alone_

_And we just let it happen and do not worry at all._

The door was open just a crack, barely enough for Madam Pomfrey to peer through. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I simply cannot allow you in. Nobody is allowed in."

"Please, Madam Pomfrey. I have to see her. It's extremely important. Please?" She shook her head firmly and withdrew again, closing the door tightly behind her. Hermione could hear the clicks of the locks as she magically sealed it. She slouched down to the floor with a groan, resigning herself to wait some more.

It was two days after Hermione had dragged Bellatrix back to the castle and the wretched woman still refused to let the Gryffindor see her. She had asked nicely, she begged, she got angry and yelled, she waited outside the door for hours; nothing would sway her. Hermione knew that there was little that she could do once she was let in, for there was still the small matter of the death sentence that the Ministry had given her. She ground her teeth, angered that her love-potion driven journey to save the Dark witch had been all for naught. If nothing else, saving Bellatrix gave her a purpose, and kept her from dwelling on what Harry and Ron told her in the Common Room the night that her impending wedding had been announced.

_Harry sat with his head in his hands, exhausted. Ron sat in his favorite chair, stony-faced and staring into the dying fire. The flickering light cast unsettling shadows over his face that Hermione found herself unable to look at for too long. How very different they seemed from the laughing pair at the lake not too long ago. They both glanced up at their friend's approach. "Hermione..." Their voices were pitying._

_She slouched down into the couch beside Harry. Ron quickly moved to sit next to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Hermione barely repressed the urge to shrug him off. "They can't do this. They think they can force you to get married? To Malfoy, no less. They can't do that. It's... it's..." Words failed him, as they often did._

_Harry sighed and spoke wearily. "It's a stupid plan, but since when has the Ministry had any good ideas? I'm just surprised Kingsley would allow it, but he probably wasn't given much of a choice." He turned to her. "What're you going to do, 'Mione?" he mumbled. His eyelids drooped._

_Hermione shook her head. "I don't see a way out of this. I'm just glad they stuck me with Malfoy and not someone who would hurt me." Draco was a nasty person, but he had shaped up during the war. He had suffered a great deal but soon learned that his ridiculous Pureblood ideals were not worth dying for, or worth killing others. Rumor had it that he seemed more mellow now, even pleasant from time to time. But could she ever be happy as his wife?_

_Harry nodded sleepily but Ron clenched his fist. "How can you say that? They're giving you away without any choice. They want you to be married first as an example. You're, and-I-don't-mean-this-personally-but-this-is-really-how-they-see-you-and-there's-no-getting-around-it, but you're just scum to them. Not only that, you're one of Harry's best friends. You marrying a Death Eater would be a huge insult in their eyes, but d'you reckon it would really work? Wouldn't they just fight harder?"_

_He turned to look at Hermione, his blue eyes bright but serious. "I don't want to lose you to him, Hermione. I want you to know that I'm not giving you up without a fight." His words were clearly meant to endear him to her, or at the very least cheer her up, but she felt even more despair now than before. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life with Draco Malfoy, but being the wife of Ron Weasley seemed just as repugnant. He had told his friends many times before what he hoped for when he got older, any time they found themselves wondering about their future after the war: A beautiful wife to love him who he could care for, a warm and loud home full of noisy kids to play Quidditch with, a delicious hot meal on the table three times a day. In short, he wanted his own childhood, but with Hermione as the loving wife, Hermione as the mother of countless redheaded children, and Hermione as the personal chef. Being a housewife seemed a nauseating existence, and while Ron never specifically mentioned any names in his fantasies, it was clear from the dreamy looks he sent her way who he had in mind._

_As he had not yet formally asked the witch out, or even told her outright that he planned for them to be married someday, Hermione had not yet had a chance to turn him down. She decided that right now was as good a chance as she was going to get. "Ronald," she said sharply. "What on earth are you talking about? How can you lose me when you've never had me?" He opened his mouth to speak but Hermione cut him off, leaving him gaping like a fish out of water. "It's bad enough to have the Ministry treat me as an object to be traded, I don't need to hear it from you too."_

She had stormed off to the girl's dormitory afterwards and had not seen Harry or Ron since. Her feet wandered on their own after she rose the next morning until she found herself here, begging to go talk to the recovering Death Eater. Hermione had a vague and somewhat desperate sense that if she told Bellatrix what was going on, she would make it better. She never took no for an answer and Hermione was irrationally sure that she could and would help her, perhaps because she owed the Gryffindor her life and potentially her safety.

It was a ridiculous notion, as Bellatrix had no power to interfere with the Ministry of Magic in any way, nor would she probably want to considering the control they held over the rest of her life. If she displeased them they would send her to rot in Azkaban before she could finish her sentence, or simply kill her. Despite her despair and previous conviction that she wanted to die, the Gryffindor felt that deep down there was nothing the Death Eater wanted more than to live and be free. A warrior such as herself would never fight so hard for a life that they considered worthless.

Soft footsteps interrupted Hermione's musing and she whipped around, drawing her wand and aiming it at the approaching figure. "Going to curse me, Hermione?" The voice sounded vaguely amused, and lowering her arm she saw that it was Andromeda. "That's all right, I know it was just a reflex. At least you did lower your wand when you saw it was me, that's more than most others do." She seemed to have cheered up over the past few days since her daughter's death, but Hermione suspected that she had simply learned to hide her pain. It was the same thing that her entire family did; cover up any negative emotions as if they were weaknesses. It had been easy enough to see through Sirius' fake smile, but Andromeda and her sisters were utterly inscrutable.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked curiously. She smirked knowingly.

"I think I'm doing the same thing as you, Miss Granger. I'm here to see my sister. It is long past time we spoke." She tilted her head, surveying the witch before her carefully. "You seem to have gotten over whatever it was that affected you last time I saw you, but there must be some reason why you are here. I have asked you before and I say it again, why do you care so much? Why can't you let Bella die?"

Hermione blushed and turned away as if the question had been extremely personal. "She was the one who wanted to talk to me. I want to know what she had to say. Kingsley asked me to…"

"Don't hide behind his orders, we both know it's more important than that. He never asked you to look for her. He never asked you to bring her back to the castle. He never asked you to save her, both from the poison and herself." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't think I don't know about that. Minerva told me how you were dragging her back unconscious, as if she didn't want to go on her own. I know my sister. She wanted to die, didn't she?"

"Yes." Her voice was small and ashamed, like a child caught in a lie. "She said she had nothing to live for without her master."

To her surprise and horror, Andromeda's eyes swam with tears. "She said that? She doesn't have nothing. She has me. She has Cissy. We still love her." She slid down the wall as if her legs could not support her, sitting beside Hermione. "My sister has become a horrible person who has done horrible things, but she is still the person who took care of me and Cissy when we were little. She protected us from our mother when we disappointed her. She taught us to hide our emotions and not let anyone see them. She got us out of trouble at school. She showed us that there was nothing to fear under our beds, or in our closets, or from thunderstorms. Mother told us we were weak and foolish girls but she cared for us and she loved us. Father loved us too, but he was always busy. We only had her and now she thinks we don't care anymore?"

Hermione stared at her, frozen. She was never any good in these kinds of situations, so she knelt down and awkwardly patted a shaking shoulder. "She loves you, I'm sure she does. She's just distraught." She ignored the fact that this was most likely no longer true after Andromeda married a Muggle-born, as that seemed to be the last thing she needed to hear right now. "She doesn't think that you two still care about her. She thinks you hate her for what she's done."

She raised her head, eyes burning with sudden rage but still streaming with tears. The rest of her expression remained oddly blank. "How could she think that? Family is forever. She has a lot of explaining to do, but until I talk to her I cannot hate her. Not yet." She spoke with such conviction that Hermione half expected her to jump up and blast the door open, but that was not necessary. Madam Pomfrey opened the door and stuck her head out, looking at them with mild surprise, as if she forgot that there was anyone out there.

"Perfect. Miss Black is awake and asking for both of you."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: You dear readers seemed confused by the last chapter so I thought I might clear some things up. The sequence in which Hermione imagined her wedding was when she fell asleep; she began dreaming about halfway through it. She did not faint, she is not sick, she was just tired. Also, she is without a doubt engaged to Draco, not Bellatrix. Don't worry; this is still a Bellamione story and there will be femslash. Thank you for all your reviews, they are great. Lyrics are from Sensorium by Epica.**

**-Ophelia**

_Our future has already been written by us alone_

_But we don't grasp the meaning_

_Of our programmed course of life._

_Our future has already been wasted by us alone_

_And we just let it happen and do not worry at all._

The door was open just a crack, barely enough for Madam Pomfrey to peer through. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I simply cannot allow you in. Nobody is allowed in."

"Please, Madam Pomfrey. I have to see her. It's extremely important. Please?" She shook her head firmly and withdrew again, closing the door tightly behind her. Hermione could hear the clicks of the locks as she magically sealed it. She slouched down to the floor with a groan, resigning herself to wait some more.

It was two days after Hermione had dragged Bellatrix back to the castle and the wretched woman still refused to let the Gryffindor see her. She had asked nicely, she begged, she got angry and yelled, she waited outside the door for hours; nothing would sway her. Hermione knew that there was little that she could do once she was let in, for there was still the small matter of the death sentence that the Ministry had given her. She ground her teeth, angered that her love-potion driven journey to save the Dark witch had been all for naught. If nothing else, saving Bellatrix gave her a purpose, and kept her from dwelling on what Harry and Ron told her in the Common Room the night that her impending wedding had been announced.

_Harry sat with his head in his hands, exhausted. Ron sat in his favorite chair, stony-faced and staring into the dying fire. The flickering light cast unsettling shadows over his face that Hermione found herself unable to look at for too long. How very different they seemed from the laughing pair at the lake not too long ago. They both glanced up at their friend's approach. "Hermione..." Their voices were pitying._

_She slouched down into the couch beside Harry. Ron quickly moved to sit next to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Hermione barely repressed the urge to shrug him off. "They can't do this. They think they can force you to get married? To Malfoy, no less. They can't do that. It's... it's..." Words failed him, as they often did._

_Harry sighed and spoke wearily. "It's a stupid plan, but since when has the Ministry had any good ideas? I'm just surprised Kingsley would allow it, but he probably wasn't given much of a choice." He turned to her. "What're you going to do, 'Mione?" he mumbled. His eyelids drooped._

_Hermione shook her head. "I don't see a way out of this. I'm just glad they stuck me with Malfoy and not someone who would hurt me." Draco was a nasty person, but he had shaped up during the war. He had suffered a great deal but soon learned that his ridiculous Pureblood ideals were not worth dying for, or worth killing others. Rumor had it that he seemed more mellow now, even pleasant from time to time. But could she ever be happy as his wife?_

_Harry nodded sleepily but Ron clenched his fist. "How can you say that? They're giving you away without any choice. They want you to be married first as an example. You're, and-I-don't-mean-this-personally-but-this-is-really-how-they-see-you-and-there's-no-getting-around-it, but you're just scum to them. Not only that, you're one of Harry's best friends. You marrying a Death Eater would be a huge insult in their eyes, but d'you reckon it would really work? Wouldn't they just fight harder?"_

_He turned to look at Hermione, his blue eyes bright but serious. "I don't want to lose you to him, Hermione. I want you to know that I'm not giving you up without a fight." His words were clearly meant to endear him to her, or at the very least cheer her up, but she felt even more despair now than before. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life with Draco Malfoy, but being the wife of Ron Weasley seemed just as repugnant. He had told his friends many times before what he hoped for when he got older, any time they found themselves wondering about their future after the war: A beautiful wife to love him who he could care for, a warm and loud home full of noisy kids to play Quidditch with, a delicious hot meal on the table three times a day. In short, he wanted his own childhood, but with Hermione as the loving wife, Hermione as the mother of countless redheaded children, and Hermione as the personal chef. Being a housewife seemed a nauseating existence, and while Ron never specifically mentioned any names in his fantasies, it was clear from the dreamy looks he sent her way who he had in mind._

_As he had not yet formally asked the witch out, or even told her outright that he planned for them to be married someday, Hermione had not yet had a chance to turn him down. She decided that right now was as good a chance as she was going to get. "Ronald," she said sharply. "What on earth are you talking about? How can you lose me when you've never had me?" He opened his mouth to speak but Hermione cut him off, leaving him gaping like a fish out of water. "It's bad enough to have the Ministry treat me as an object to be traded, I don't need to hear it from you too."_

She had stormed off to the girl's dormitory afterwards and had not seen Harry or Ron since. Her feet wandered on their own after she rose the next morning until she found herself here, begging to go talk to the recovering Death Eater. Hermione had a vague and somewhat desperate sense that if she told Bellatrix what was going on, she would make it better. She never took no for an answer and Hermione was irrationally sure that she could and would help her, perhaps because she owed the Gryffindor her life and potentially her safety.

It was a ridiculous notion, as Bellatrix had no power to interfere with the Ministry of Magic in any way, nor would she probably want to considering the control they held over the rest of her life. If she displeased them they would send her to rot in Azkaban before she could finish her sentence, or simply kill her. Despite her despair and previous conviction that she wanted to die, the Gryffindor felt that deep down there was nothing the Death Eater wanted more than to live and be free. A warrior such as herself would never fight so hard for a life that they considered worthless.

Soft footsteps interrupted Hermione's musing and she whipped around, drawing her wand and aiming it at the approaching figure. "Going to curse me, Hermione?" The voice sounded vaguely amused, and lowering her arm she saw that it was Andromeda. "That's all right, I know it was just a reflex. At least you did lower your wand when you saw it was me, that's more than most others do." She seemed to have cheered up over the past few days since her daughter's death, but Hermione suspected that she had simply learned to hide her pain. It was the same thing that her entire family did; cover up any negative emotions as if they were weaknesses. It had been easy enough to see through Sirius' fake smile, but Andromeda and her sisters were utterly inscrutable.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked curiously. She smirked knowingly.

"I think I'm doing the same thing as you, Miss Granger. I'm here to see my sister. It is long past time we spoke." She tilted her head, surveying the witch before her carefully. "You seem to have gotten over whatever it was that affected you last time I saw you, but there must be some reason why you are here. I have asked you before and I say it again, why do you care so much? Why can't you let Bella die?"

Hermione blushed and turned away as if the question had been extremely personal. "She was the one who wanted to talk to me. I want to know what she had to say. Kingsley asked me to…"

"Don't hide behind his orders, we both know it's more important than that. He never asked you to look for her. He never asked you to bring her back to the castle. He never asked you to save her, both from the poison and herself." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't think I don't know about that. Minerva told me how you were dragging her back unconscious, as if she didn't want to go on her own. I know my sister. She wanted to die, didn't she?"

"Yes." Her voice was small and ashamed, like a child caught in a lie. "She said she had nothing to live for without her master."

To her surprise and horror, Andromeda's eyes swam with tears. "She said that? She doesn't have nothing. She has me. She has Cissy. We still love her." She slid down the wall as if her legs could not support her, sitting beside Hermione. "My sister has become a horrible person who has done horrible things, but she is still the person who took care of me and Cissy when we were little. She protected us from our mother when we disappointed her. She taught us to hide our emotions and not let anyone see them. She got us out of trouble at school. She showed us that there was nothing to fear under our beds, or in our closets, or from thunderstorms. Mother told us we were weak and foolish girls but she cared for us and she loved us. Father loved us too, but he was always busy. We only had her and now she thinks we don't care anymore?"

Hermione stared at her, frozen. She was never any good in these kinds of situations, so she knelt down and awkwardly patted a shaking shoulder. "She loves you, I'm sure she does. She's just distraught." She ignored the fact that this was most likely no longer true after Andromeda married a Muggle-born, as that seemed to be the last thing she needed to hear right now. "She doesn't think that you two still care about her. She thinks you hate her for what she's done."

She raised her head, eyes burning with sudden rage but still streaming with tears. The rest of her expression remained oddly blank. "How could she think that? Family is forever. She has a lot of explaining to do, but until I talk to her I cannot hate her. Not yet." She spoke with such conviction that Hermione half expected her to jump up and blast the door open, but that was not necessary. Madam Pomfrey opened the door and stuck her head out, looking at them with mild surprise, as if she forgot that there was anyone out there.

"Perfect. Miss Black is awake and asking for both of you."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Once again, many thanks to the incredible Kriszti for helping me come up with some semblance of a plot and spending a very, very long time overanalyzing the Black sisters with me. And I mean a **_**really**_** long time. Lyrics from On the Rise from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, which I heartily recommend to anyone with 40 minutes to kill.**

**-Ophelia**

_Any dolt with half a brain_

_Can see that humankind has gone insane_

_To the point where I don't know if I'll upset the status quo_

_If I throw poison in the water main._

_Listen close to everybody's heart_

_And hear that breaking sound._

_Hopes and dreams are shattering apart_

_And crashing to the ground._

One hour passed, then the next, the minutes blending together without notice. No progress was made or lost, just two sisters screaming and sobbing for what felt like eternity. Hermione had heard enough in the first five minutes to last the next hundred or so; they talked in circles without really deciding a thing nor introducing any new points, as anyone but they could have predicted.

Bella killed Tonks. Andy walked out on the family to get married. Bella killed Sirius. Andy wasn't there for her sisters when they needed to be together. Bella joined the Death Eaters to torture and kill innocent people and loved it. Andy decided that she would be happier with Ted Tonks than any pureblood man. Bella did everything wrong. Andy did everything right. Why does this call for discussion?

The exasperated Gryffindor knew the answer, of course. Anybody who knows anything about the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange knows it. She didn't care about the lives she took any more than she would the dirt on the bottom of her boots. One curse, a flash of green light, and they're wiped away from this Earth for good, never to bother her again. As quickly as they come into her life they were forced out, and that's all right by her. Well, not by Hermione, and certainly not by her sister either.

"BELLATRIX! YOU AREN'T LISTENING TO ME AT ALL, ARE YOU?" Two witches both cringed as Andromeda shouted again, bearing down on her sibling, red-faced. As it happens, the entire situation was far worse than Hermione could have anticipated when she had agreed to stay and wait for the fight to end. Not only were Bellatrix's arguments nonsensical and pointless, but she seemed to have a nasty habit of spacing out during conversations, simply going blank and turning inward, away from the realities of life and her screaming sister.

She turned to face her, unfazed by her screaming but looking a little confused. "Sorry, Andy? I didn't catch that," the Dark witch told her seriously, looking as if she had just resurfaced from beneath deep water. Her disconnection with the world was alarming to the youngest witch, as if she didn't belong here, in this conversation or even in this world. Her dark eyes flitted restlessly around the room as if seeking an escape, almost desperate. Finding none she looked down again to stare at her knees, which were bent under the blankets in front of her with her arms wrapped around them. At some points during the conversation, when not staring down her sister and furiously defending herself, Bellatrix would curl into the fetal position and hum quietly to herself, as a frightened child might do to calm itself when threatened by an overpowered enemy. Andromeda, focused single-mindedly on her tirade, did not appear to notice just how often her sister retreated in this way, but Hermione observed it carefully, in terror and in marvel. Watching such a notorious murderer act in such a way unsettled her, to say the least, far more than her tears did that day in the forest. Everyone cries at some point, very few people retreat into their head when faced with a situation they don't like and constantly flip between which world they pay attention to.

Andromeda's face turned red with fury, another highly disturbing sight. Whenever she gets angry she looks just like Bellatrix, right down to the flaring of her nostrils and gritting of her teeth, and Hermione couldn't help but cringe away, remembering that night in Malfoy Manor. She still occasionally got nightmares about that day, about how the Death Eater towered over her and screamed at her and tortured her and how, not once but many times, the younger witch thought about giving up. She never told a soul about that, about the dreams and the quitting and the shame, the ever burning shame that coursed through her even now as she recalled that day. Yet here she was, sitting at her torturer's side as her little sister screamed the terrible truth at her.

"You're a complete monster, Bellatrix." Hermione watched carefully as the Death Eater, now fully paying attention, flinched as the word passed through her lips; the word that everyone knew to be true but never dared to speak before her; the word that she had been hiding from for years. _Monster._ Inhuman, cruel, bestial. Bellatrix tried to hide how much the word stung with a carefully blank expression, but Hermione could see the pain in her eyes at being described thusly by her own family. "If you still think Muggles are such scum, perhaps you ought to take a closer look at yourself. Until you do, I have nothing more to say to you." With that, she swept out of the room and out of her life, for the second time. For a long moment after the door banged shut the infirmary was as silent as a crypt, until Bellatrix curled up once more and started humming again, evidently giving up on hiding her reaction.

For someone who made a name for themselves as a master of torture, Bellatrix handled pain extremely poorly. Since the end of the war, Hermione had seen her screaming and yelling after being beaten by the Order, sobbing and suicidal after talking about her unrequited love for her dead master, hiding behind a cold and uncaring expression after confronting her sister, and now humming to herself like, well, a lunatic. She was always the very definition of power, of intimidation, of evil. Now she looked broken, as if the trauma she had inflicted over the past few decades has caught up to her at last and destroyed her. The Gryffindor had always known that she was insane, but it never really sunk in until this moment. It had just been a word, bland and meaningless, containing all of the emotional attachment of saying that the Death Eater was tall with black hair. This moment, however, redefined the term, made it real and terrifying.

Hermione knew that she shouldn't touch the shaking witch, that she would probably take it badly and that she deserved no consolation anyways. However, her hand betrayed her common sense and reached out to take Bellatrix's, grasping her thin and bony fingers between hers. The older woman abruptly fell silent, raising her head to look at the girl. Her mask was back on and her expression was inscrutable, aside from her eyes. Hermione often tried to avoid looking into her eyes, having feared the chaos and anger that swirled within since she glimpsed it at the Malfoy's. She was nothing less than terrorizing then, but now she seemed pathetic, someone to be comforted rather than feared. Looking at her now, Hermione could see through the mask, could see just how badly she was hurt by Andromeda's comment, how deeply it had affected her. Bellatrix had always carried a strong and vocal conviction that what she was doing was right, and somewhere in the back of her twisted mind, she felt that it would be a matter of time until her sisters agreed.

At long last, the truth had sunk in and she was forced to see herself as she really was, not the glorified and justified warrior she always wanted to be. Her hand clutched at the Gryffindor's as if for support as their eyes locked together. The two witches sat motionless for a long moment, staring at each other, until Hermione turned her head slightly, finding it hard to watch such despair and be unable to help. Bellatrix finally spoke. "Aren't you curious about why I asked you to come here?" She sounded desperate to change the subject onto Hermione, and to assert some sense of authority by implying that she came at the Dark witch's call. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes in response, still feeling a bizarre sense of sorrow.

"Yeah, I guess so." Her sharp nails were digging into her skin now, but Hermione found that she couldn't move her hand even if she wanted to.

"Well, rumor has it that you're set to marry my dear nephew." she smirked knowingly, or at least attempted to. It looked more like a pained grimace, which Hermione felt matched the topic much better. "Does the Ministry really expect this to eliminate all blood-status rivalry?" She actually did roll her eyes at that one; the use of the word rivalry implies that Muggle-borns wanted to attack the purebloods in turn, rather than defend themselves from their outrageous and aggressive accusations.

"How did you hear about that?" she demanded, annoyed. She was under the impression that the Ministry's plans were to be top-secret. Bellatrix didn't reply, although her smirk was growing more pronounced. "It's a stupid idea, of course, there's no way it could ever work. Marry off the Death Eaters to Muggle-borns in an attempt to humble them, or humiliate them? The only thing that will do is get them angry, angry enough to cause another uprising, and this time more people will follow. Who would you rather fight for, a government that thinks it can arrange marriages, or the oppressed few being forced into them?" Now Hermione's nails were the ones piercing the pale hand beneath them, and Bellatrix quickly shook her off.

"Don't be so dramatic, girl. With the Dark Lord gone," her voice shook a little as the words were forced out, "the army is dissolved. There are now many ex-Death Eaters, but the organization itself is no more. In any case, I doubt there will be any kind of resistance. Anyone being married off is being spared death or worse, and they know it. They will not create trouble, not after escaping justice so narrowly."

"So you think they won't kill off their new wives?" There were only two known female Death Eaters, and the Carrows had been sent to Azkaban. Only men remained, which meant that only unlucky Muggle-born girls would be needed for this scheme.

Bellatrix hesitated before answering. "Draco would never harm you, nor anybody else. He's too damn weak, just like that foolish father of his," she added under your breath. Hermione ignored the last bit.

"You're avoiding the question. I know Draco won't be much of a problem, but if things go well with us the Ministry will see it as a go-ahead signal. If things go poorly, they will blame and punish him. I need to stop this _now_. We only have a month until the weddings."

"All right, the others would kill the filthy girls, no question. They might do it quietly, they might not, but expect them to be dead within months after the accursed weddings. The Ministry would be quite foolish if they don't see this coming."

This was precisely what Hermione thought would happen, but it was still disparaging to hear it coming from someone else. "So what do you suggest we do?" Her shoulders slumped with defeat, but the Death Eater seemed to fill with vigor at the prospect of a new battle to face. She sat up straighter.

"Well, that depends on what I get out of it. After all, we still don't know what the Ministry plans to do with me…" Her tone suddenly grew much more commanding, just like the Bellatrix that Hermione knew before the end of the war broke you her. "I don't want to be thrown into Azkaban again. I don't want to be killed by the likes of _them_." She spat the word out with a disgusted snarl on her face, but the Gryffindor noted that she did not say she didn't want to die at all. "And I certainly don't want to be forced into another marriage, no more than anyone would even want to marry me now, I'm sure. Keep them from doing any of these things to me and I'll do everything I can to help you."

Hermione stared at the expectant witch blankly. This was quite a hefty list, and while she held a certain amount of power it was unlikely to be enough to meet all of those demands. "How do you expect me to do all of that?"

"How do you expect me to help you?" she shot back. Her arms were crossed in defiance; her breakdown just minutes ago might never have happened. "I'm stuck in this bloody bed until Pomfrey decides I'm well enough to leave, and then I'll probably be chained up again. If you don't help me I can't do anything for you at all." She was right and they both knew it, but Hermione's words still stuck in her mouth as she struggled to speak them.

"Fine. I'll help you. I'll do my best to keep you safe if you do your best to stop this law."

Bellatrix shook your head, her hair whipping around chaotically. "No, no, no. this law is well beyond my control, all I can do is help you. Besides, why should I care about any other girls unless they promise to defend me too? The Dark Lord protected me and helped me grow strong, so I fought for him. If you agree to my terms then I could be your best ally."

The Gryffindor groaned, but knew this would be the best deal she could get. Depending on what her idea was, she might be able to stop the Ministry without her direct help. She began to nod in agreement, then an idea struck her. "One condition," she began, ignoring the eye-roll sent her way. "If I save you from being imprisoned or killed, you have to swear never to break the law again."

Much to her surprise, Bellatrix laughed at the proposal, then said, "Done. I agree." Her smile broadened into a grin as she watched Hermione's eyes widen. "If you manage to sway the Ministry, I don't doubt that they would have me swear to that as well, so I might as well get it out of the way. You can be sure to mention it when you talk to them."

A moment passed in quiet shock, then Hermione cleared her throat. "So, what's this idea of yours?"

Still grinning, Bellatrix leaned forward so that her face was an inch from Hermione's. "Call it off with Draco and marry me instead."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: I work at a grocery store and I wrote this on the back of a handful of receipts last night because I was bored during my shift. Classy author is classy. Lyrics are from Marry Me by Emilie Autumn.**

**-Ophelia**

_But when I was in his bed, and my father had sold me_

_I knew I hadn't any choice, hushed my voice, did what any girl would do and_

_When I'm beheaded at least I was wedded._

_And when I am buried at least I was married._

_I'll hide my behavior with wine as my savior._

For a long moment Hermione stared at her, utterly speechless. "You… what?" Surely she had misunderstood, or even misheard her altogether. Surely this was not as it appeared, not the infamous Bellatrix Black asking Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born girl, to marry her. No, there had to be something else going on, an ulterior motive.

"Didn't you hear me, Mudblood?" she sneered, annoyed that the Gryffindor did not immediately grasp the brilliance of her plan. "I think you should marry me instead of Draco. It will be the perfect way to spite the Ministry and keep us both safe. Nobody will ever see it coming." She leaned back against her stack of pillows, unbearably haughty.

That much was true, at least; nobody _would_ see it coming. "I heard you just fine, but…" Hermione hesitated, unsure how to continue without triggering one of her awful rages. Or worse, another episode of suicidal despair. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows, smirking at the younger witch's indecision. Anger and frustration quickly overcame her and she threw caution to the wind. "I can think of many things that would be far worse than spending the rest of my life with Draco Malfoy, Bellatrix. Spending it with you is one of them. Why on earth would this be better?"

"Well, it would be better for Draco and much, much better for me. Think about it, girl. Draco doesn't want to be married and now he doesn't have to be, at least not to you. It would be more shocking and humiliating for scum such as yourself to marry someone like me rather than him, so the Ministry will be happy. And, as the wife of one of Harry Potter's closest companions, I cannot be arrested or killed, or forced to marry someone else. Don't you see? This way, everyone wins."

"Everyone but me, you mean!" Hermione stood, completely fed up with the way this awful woman regarded her as a piece of filth who could be ordered around. What made everyone think that she was just a pawn, an emotionless piece in their games to use and destroy as they will, to blindly follow commands no matter what happened along the way? The Gryffindor was absolutely livid, the injustice of it all making her see red. She turned on her heel and strode to the door, feeling Bellatrix's scornful gaze burning into her back with every step. Her hand was on the doorknob when she called out.

"Mudblood or not, you know Cissy and Lucius would expect you to produce an heir if you marry their only son. I'm sure the Ministry would as well, if their new stance is on diluting pure blood." Hermione froze in place as the words hit her. In the heavy silence that followed she could swear she heard the Death Eater's lips curl into a smug smile. This was her trump card and she knew it. She was psychotic, evil, sadistic, childish, and almost thirty years older than the enraged Gryffindor, but she was also a woman and by Merlin, not even the Ministry of Magic would be able to make Hermione have a child with her.

She slowly walked back over to the vacated chair and slumped into it, trying to avoid looking at her. A long moment passed before Bellatrix spoke again, her voice somewhat kinder than before. "That's the way Pureblood marriages go, girl." Surprised, Hermione looked up at her. The Death Eater's face was unreadable, but Hermione found the gentler tone comforting, even though it was still much harsher than that of most people. "Your parents match you with someone who you may or may not know, based purely on the age and wealth of their family. It matters not if you like each other or find the other attractive, although of course if you are considered good-looking you will have many more suitors. My parents had no less than a dozen men chosen for me, all attractive and from respectable families, but I was a proud fool at your age." She suddenly grew agitated. "I turned down the lot of them; I thought I had a choice. I thought that if I said no to all of them then they would give up and I would be free. But it doesn't work like that."

She had curled up into a ball again, seeming to speak more to herself than to the young woman she had just proposed to.

"I spent a few years after school unchained and happy, turning down suitors and laughing at the world. I wanted to be so much more than a proper Pureblood housewife, churning out sons for rich and old families and gossiping at parties. I wanted to make a name for myself, independent of a husband. I watched my classmates wed and thought myself above them, the clever eldest daughter of House Black. _Daughter_, that was the key part I had missed. It was a mother's duty to marry off her daughters to prominent families and get them out of the house quickly, an ancient tradition. My mother was terribly offended to have three girls and not a single son, while the rest of the family had only boys. Father didn't mind terribly but Mother was livid, she was horrified, she was disgusted. We were the biggest failures of her life when we should have been her pride and joy. Our many accomplishments meant nothing to her because we were female, and nothing we did would warm us to her. She hated us all from the moment we were born, growing more and more resentful with time. When she had me she was disappointed but hopeful that there would be sons to wash away her shame. But by the time Cissy came along, well…" She let out a humorless laugh, dark eyes blazing with fury. "You don't name your baby Narcissa because you love her." Bellatrix took a deep and steadying breath before continuing.

"Sirius and Regulus never married, and that was just fine, they were men and society expected much less of them as far as that went. But when Andy ran away Mother needed to act quickly, she needed to prove that not all of her children would betray the family. She needed to keep Cissy and I from seeing how happy our sister was and joining her. Within a week she had dug up matches for us both, with a dual wedding date set in two more weeks. There was no choice, there was no time. I had played the game and I had lost, and now I was being given as some kind of prize to Rodolphus Lestrange, whose mother was so desperate to get him out of the house that she would wed him to a shamed daughter of Black. I don't blame her." Her nose scrunched up in disgust at the very thought of the man and she seemed to shiver involuntarily. Hermione wanted to ask what had happened but felt afraid to do so and instead sat motionless, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, the Gryffindor spoke instead.

"People still do that, then? Arrange marriages for their children? It's 1998, not 1798. That is an absolutely ridiculous tradition, what kind of twist-"

"_My_ family would do that, that's what kind," she snapped, cutting across the younger witch sharply. "Don't you dare insult them, filthy Mudblood. You have no idea what you are talking about, none at all."

"I'll insult your family as long as you continue to insult mine. Who do you think you are, Bellatrix Black, that you can sit there and degrade me with every other breath? Who do you think you are that you consider yourself my superior by birthright? Respect is earned, I don't care how many of your ancestors could do magic."

Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared with rage; she sat up suddenly, then winced and slumped back down again. No matter how angry she was, she was still badly injured and could not summon the energy to attack. Courage bolstered by the sight, Hermione continued. "I know the biggest reason you want us to be married: you want to protect yourself. You don't care about me, or even about your nephew. You just want to do whatever you want like you always have, and try to control me in the process. Well, guess what? I'm not doing it."

"You… what?" Nobody had ever spoken to her like this, evidently. As far as she was concerned, Hermione was way out of line, and her hand reached for her wand almost automatically, itching to punish the girl for her insolence.

"There is nothing more important than family, and tradition is a part of that. Don't you understand what the Ministry is doing, trying to arrange marriages with filth? They want to destroy the family trees, make it so that there are no true Purebloods left. We're a dying branch of the Wizarding community and they want to outright destroy it. It is an outrage, an abomination, and there's nothing any of us can do to stop it." She was glaring at her with utter venom and loathing, and Hermione imagined the Death Eater in a wedding gown staring at her in the same way, and continuing to do so every day for the rest of their lives.

"Filth? _Filth_? That's all I am to you, is it? Do you think that's really a good way to convince me to help you?"

"Well, it's true," she snapped furiously. "You're a Mudblood, your parents were filthy little Muggles – no, do not interrupt me, I am speaking and you will bloody well listen. You were the one who asked and I am trying to kindly oblige you. The ability to do magic is part of my definition of human, thus your family is less than that, as are you. You doing magic is like a pig dressing in human clothing and demanding to be treated equally. It's absurd, it's outrageous, and the Dark Lord knew it and was determined to put you swine back in line. And now the Ministry wants us, the highest of wizardkind, to _marry_ said swine? To spend the rest of our lives with absolute scum, to breed with such slime?" She shivered with disgust. "My sister may have no issue with that but I assure you, she is very much in the minority."

Hermione glared at her, shaking with rage. Even throughout the entire war, never had she been so insulted. "Very well then, Bellatrix Black. I'll just be going now. I'm sure the Ministry would love to get their hands on you. I'll even do you a favor and ask them to spare your life. You can return to Azkaban, they've saved your cell for you and the Dementors missed you terribly. It will be like coming home again, won't it?" She kept her voice calm and cold, trying to hold back a smirk as her eyes widened.

"No, please not that. You can't!" Bellatrix evidently had a hard time accepting that a Muggle-born had such power as to send her back to jail on a whim, but even she knew it was true. Hermione was perfectly serious this time; she had had enough of this terrible woman. Her change in demeanor was astonishing; she went from sneering and harsh to pleading and desperate almost at once. "Please, I can't go back there. I – I'll do anything, please don't make me go." The Gryffindor raised an eyebrow, careful to keep the rest of her expression blank.

"Stop insulting me and I won't order your arrest. Call me by my name, not "Mudblood". Do not presume to insult my family ever again. And of course, you've already promised not to break any more laws. At the very least, do that and I'm sure we'll get along just fine." The Dark witch glowered at her with utter loathing but wordlessly nodded.

"Very well, now that that's sorted out," Hermione paused and watched with a detached satisfaction as her nostrils flared once more with anger, but she did not interrupt again, the unseen threat of Azkaban now dangling heavily over her head. "How does this change anything? Why should I want to marry you?" Bellatrix shook her head impatiently.

"I was raised expecting to be forced to marry someone not of my choosing, which is precisely what happened. The last thing I want would be to go through all of that all over again, so this is the only way I can fight back. I don't know how else I can make you understand, girl. Draco, on the other hand, was brought up knowing that he could choose his bride. This would hurt him less, and hurt me far less. It shouldn't affect you much either way, really, aside from that heir business… Do you want to have a baby with Draco? If you do, by all means, leave me and my offer here and go see him. Do what the Ministry tells you like a good little girl." She made shooing gestures with her hands but Hermione didn't move.

It was the very last thing she wanted to do, but she moved her chair closer to the bed, looking right into those dark eyes. "I don't want to have a baby and you know it, especially not with _Malfoy_." The very thought of it disgusted her, lying in a bed next to him, sleeping with him and carrying his child… not a chance. She would not allow it. "If I married you instead… nobody would expect us to… you know…" Hermione blushed, fumbling with the words. She knew what she wanted to say but not how to say it.

Bellatrix smirked, enjoying her awkwardness. She reached out to tenderly stroke the younger witch's cheek with a long fingernail, laughing as Hermione jerked away. "No, nobody would know if we had sex or not. And we would not, I assure you, girl. Just in case your hopes were up."

Hermione blushed harder, if possible. This was an important turning point, but did she really feel the need to make it so bloody uncomfortable? "So, we'll be married in name only. We wouldn't have to live together or anything, right?"

"Of course. There will be none of that, and the Ministry can't get their wand in a twist over it either. Everybody will benefit from this, you'll see."

"But, how will I tell them that I'm changing their plan. They won't like that."

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Merlin's beard, Mu- Hermione, they told me you were smart. Come up with something, anything at all. It doesn't matter; it still works with their plan. Just get over yourself and talk to them. Don't take no for an answer."

Hermione nodded, rising again to leave. She had spent more than enough time here listening to this maniac for one day, and her joints cried out in pain as she stretched them. She looked around the Hospital Wing, noting that there were no other patients here. There had been many witches and wizards wounded during the battle, but they had clearly been moved out when Bellatrix came in here. Was it for her safety or theirs?

Hermione made her way to the door again, stopping before she left. She expected to hear the older witch say something again, perhaps a word of encouragement or even gratitude. She did indeed shout to her, a harsh cry of "Get out!" Her new fiancée was as about as charming as a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but it was the only thing she had to defy the Ministry. Shaking her head, Hermione exited the room without comment.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: I know it has been a while since the last update, but I had to sort some things out. Sorry, guys. I went back to the last chapter and changed the second half; after reading your reviews I agreed that Hermione was too OOC when she just sat there and allowed herself to be insulted. I added about a page that changes the dynamics of her relationship with Bellatrix, so please take a look at that before continuing. Thanks. Lyrics are from Our Truth by Lacuna Coil.**

**-Ophelia**

_Clock is ticking while I'm killing time_

_Spinning all around_

_Nothing else that you can do_

_To turn it back_

_Wicked partnership in this crime_

_Ripping off the best_

_Condescending smile_

Hermione felt almost dazed as she made her way to the Great Hall, her feet leading her automatically towards the warmth and promise of food and good company. The Gryffindor table was packed, but fell silent when she approached. Hermione's eyes drifted over the upturned faces, watching her intently with mixed pity and horror.

Her hands balled into fists. The news had clearly gotten out somehow, and when she sat down she was overwhelmed by a flood of half-hearted sentiments.

"This is unjust, Hermione. They can't do this!" But they did, and with very little opposition.

"I'm trying to get a petition to stop this law, Hermione, but… it passed before I could finish." There were only five signatures.

"All of my friends agree that this is wrong, Hermione." Oh, that's nice. Are your friends Ministry officials?

More and more people piled around the young witch, people whose faces she recognized and many that she didn't. Despite their words of comfort and sympathy, there was one message that rang out clearly on each one of their faces. Whatever they said to the contrary, they were just pleased that Hermione was the first victim and not them. It took only a few moments before she couldn't take any more. She stood to leave, but then saw Luna Lovegood struggling to make her way through the packed crowd. "Luna!" she called, reaching to the Ravenclaw. They have had their differences, but Luna was nothing if not honest and that was what Hermione needed most right now, not false sympathy.

She reached the table quickly, the crowd clearing for her as if worried that her strangeness would contaminate them. "Hello, Hermione," she said, sitting down and reaching for a goblet of pumpkin juice. The crowd quietly dispersed, one by one. Luna turned to look at the Gryffindor, smiling in that dreamy way of hers. "I heard about your wedding. Terrible, isn't it?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but the blonde wasn't looking at her as she buttered a biscuit and continued. "Daddy has received a bunch of editorials about it, complaining about the Ministry's new regime. Don't you see what they really want to do here?" She looked back at her, her large eyes wide and eager with a new conspiracy theory. Hermione knew that look all too well, but was spared hearing her crazy new idea by a tap on her shoulder.

She turned, taken aback to see that it was Draco Malfoy who had gotten her attention, not Harry or Ron as she had guessed. "Malfoy?" He looked uncomfortable, but took a steadying breath, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin slightly.

"Gr- Hermione. I take it you've heard the news, I think we ought to at least try to be civil, don't you?" He raised a pale eyebrow on an otherwise expressionless face, a lifetime of practice helping him maintain his composure perfectly.

Hermione nodded, understanding how important this would be to him. Glancing around the hall, she could see the various Aurors watching him intently, preparing to strike should he attack. If the old rivals could keep their tempers under control, there would be no need for them to intervene, and no need for them to think even less of him. The performance of his life had begun; he had a lot of people to impress if he wanted to be accepted into society again. It all started with how he handled his surprise wedding.

"I agree, Draco. Why don't we go for a walk around the lake? I have a lot that I need to share with you." He nodded tersely, following as the witch rose and exited the hall. The unlikely pair walked in silence out the huge doors onto the grounds, where there was far less of a chance of being overheard. They soon reached the tree that, only a few days ago, Hermione had been lounging under with Harry and Ron. So much had changed so quickly. She swallowed hard and turned to face Draco again. After a long moment, he spoke.

"I heard about how you reacted to the new law, I did the same thing when I got the owl. I was at home and my parents saw it too. Mother was furious, but Father said that it would be much better than Azkaban, and that he at least was grateful that I would be safe and still had a chance at getting my life back together. He's right, of course, but it was very strange seeing him be the calm and rational one. That's always Mum." He scuffed the ground with his foot, avoiding catching her eye.

Hermione was unsure how to respond to that, wondering how her own parents would have reacted. She hoped that they would have been furious on her behalf as well, but as Muggles they would have even less influence than the Malfoys, little as that was. For a moment she half expected Draco to ask about her family in turn, but of course he did not. Perhaps it was better like that. Instead, he gave a shout of fury and threw a rock into the lake, where it landed with a satisfyingly loud splash.

Still not looking at me, he threw himself to the ground and began to talk again, faster and more forcefully than before. "This is complete rubbish, all of it. How stupid do they really think we are, that they can just force us together and expect their problems to melt away?" For a moment he sounded like the same whiny teenager he always had been, but then it passed and he seemed weighed down with all the troubles in the world. The Gryffindor knew that he suffered more than the rest most over the past couple of years and was curious to see what kind of man it made of him. "Father has always said that there were some crazy ideas flying around in the Ministry, but that they were inevitable and that nothing could come of them anyway. He said that there are always stupid ideas even from the best of people, but that the point of the government was to keep them from being taken too seriously. Things have changed a lot if they can actually support this plan. Surely there are powerful people who disagree with it?" He looked up at me, almost desperate.

Hermione sighed and sat down too, keeping a careful distance. "I have no idea. They've told me no more about this plan than you."

"I see." She watched as the young man's hand clenched into a fist, but he kept his voice remarkably calm. At long last, the insufferable Draco Malfoy has learned to restrain himself. "As much as I dislike it, I can understand why they would want to punish me, but why you? Did they say why they had chosen you for this, or even why they decided to attack Mud- ah, Muggle-borns in general? Hasn't the war targeted you enough?"

It was the same question that had been plaguing Hermione, and yet any time she spoke to an Order member who was in on the plan, they turned mysteriously deaf. "I don't know," she replied wearily, and Draco finally turned to face her, sympathetic. His change in demeanor was shocking, but comforting as well. If this is what Draco was like now then perhaps the witch should have agreed to marry him after all. Anyone was better than Bellatrix; it should have been obvious from the start. The decision to agree with her plan had been hasty and poorly considered, and now that Hermione was away from the confines of the hospital wing and from her menacing and piercing glare it was as clear as day. She groaned in frustration at her own crippling stupidity and Draco looked up in slight surprise.

"Are you, er, all right, er, Hermione?" He rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort, clearly struggling to be polite. She appreciated the effort, which had not been expected at all. It seemed that he would have to find out about the plan now, and the young woman squirmed in embarrassment at the thought before turning to gaze over the lake. The sun was setting over the still water, a colorful and peaceful image that soothed her frayed nerves. She took a deep breath before beginning to explain.

"Did you hear that your aunt is still here at the school?" Out of the corner of her eye she could see his face darken, his brow furrowing.

"I had heard that, yeah," he said rather gruffly. His voice was tinged with thinly veiled distain, and she was now rather apprehensive of telling him the plan. He was still a Death Eater, even if he never wanted to be, and she needed to keep that in mind. It had been far easier than it should have been to deal with Bellatrix while she was so grievously wounded, but if she and Hermione were to be married then she would have to deal with her at full strength for the rest of her life. The realization struck her suddenly, and she realized that this obvious outcome had never occurred to her at all. Once Bellatrix was fully recovered, Hermione's pity for her as a result of her injuries would vanish, as would any measure of safety. The rest of her life would be their encounter at Malfoy Manor, over and over again. The Death Eater had promised not to break any more laws, but she had never promised not to cause any more harm. Hermione shivered.

_What have I done? How could I have agreed to this?_

Draco interrupted her internal debate with a small cough, clearly made even more uncomfortable by the sudden silence. "Yeah, I heard that she was still here. The Ministry is cracking down on Death Eaters; most of them that are not in Azkaban yet are being held in the castle while they decide on their punishments. They were all given a last chance to talk to someone on the winning side, remember? Apparently Aunt Bella decided that her best chance was to talk to you. She, ah… She thinks you're a bit of a pushover. She was confident that she could manipulate you, or that she could overpower you and use you as a human shield." His hand was on the back of his neck again and he had the grace to flush a bit as he explained. "She assumed that you would be afraid of her… after… what, um, happened," he finished lamely.

"Well, she wasn't completely wrong," Hermione muttered quietly, then sighed. "Yeah, but she didn't count on being beaten up and restrained, did she? She never had a chance to do anything but talk, but once I got there she had nothing to say to me. Then… stuff happened, then she asked me to marry her instead of you and I agreed." The words poured from her before she could stop them, leaving Draco staring at her.

"She… you… what?" He looked at her in a kind of desperation, almost pleading for the witch to tell him that he had heard it completely wrong.

She continued staring over the surface of the lake, refusing to meet his eyes, which I could feel burning into me. "She somehow managed to convince me that it would be more helpful, to her and to you, if I married her instead of you. I agreed, and I'm not about to go back on a promise." I didn't add that the main turning point was avoiding having sex with him; that would probably be the only thing that could make this moment even more uncomfortable.

He stared at me, his eyes widening. "No, no, I don't think you understand the situation here. They're watching me and my family very carefully; this is my only chance to redeem myself. That was a very… selfish, to say the least, decision of hers." I noted the way he left me out of it, as if I was not a part of that decision at all myself. "This affects more than just you and me, Hermione. This affects my whole family, and I'm not letting you two throw a wrench on the works without talking with my parents." He stood up, brushing the dirt primly from his robes, and reached a hand expectantly towards me in preparation to Disapparate.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: It's been another looong wait between chapters, I know. I went to write this earlier and ended up posting a smut piece instead, which is better than staring blankly at the screen like usual, but still not an update. I've just been having a really hard time lately doing… pretty much everything. I've lost all motivation to do anything, even to continue this story, which is one of the few things I actually enjoy. Massive thanks to the super-mega-foxy-awesome-hot Kriszti for helping me with this stuff. Please take a moment to review, every one means a lot to me. Lyrics are from The Black Brigade by Project 86**

**-Ophelia**

_Straining on to run without remorse_

_Casting off mistakes that came before_

_In my mind I see a hallowed door_

_Open arm embrace, I'm reaching for..._

_Committed_

_Determined_

_My gaze is set on finishing_

I stared at his outstretched hand, feeling my stomach drop with horror. Return to his house, the very same place where you hurt me so badly? Return to that place of pain and terror, where Luna and Mr. Ollivander were imprisoned for so long? I wouldn't do it. I couldn't do it; couldn't bring myself to go with him. "Draco, I- I can't do it. Please don't make me go back there." I sat back down and hid my face in my hands.

Draco Malfoy is not a harsh man, but he certainly seemed merciless to me, asking me to go back to that awful place. He knelt down beside me, prying my hands none to gently from my face and cupping my chin in his hand. He tilted my face up, forcing me to look into his pale eyes. "Why do you fear my home, Hermione?" he asked, his voice colder than I expected.

I blinked in surprise; surely he knew the answer to that. "Your aunt tortured me there," I whispered, trying to turn my head away but unable to with his hand holding me still. Draco looked triumphant, but then oddly pitying. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, but his eyes held a sadness and compassion that he so rarely showed. I knew that I could never expect you to look at me with such concern and found myself doubting our agreement again.

"Precisely. It was my aunt who attacked you. Not me, not my parents. But who is it that you would rather marry, hm? Me, that obnoxious kid from school," his voice was teasing but then grew deadly serious, "or the woman who you barely know but who hurt you so badly. What the hell are you playing at?" He stood up again, staring me down.

I couldn't bear to look at him; I knew he was right. "I made an agreement, Draco. Your aunt is a loathsome woman, I know, but I promised to help her..." My voice and argument sounded weak and childish even to me, and from his raised eyebrows and smirk I could see that Draco agreed. I fumbled for the proper words to explain myself, but none came. Here, away from your piercing and menacing gaze, it was next to impossible to justify my decision.

Draco spoke up again, still towering over me. "Exactly, she is. So why would you decide to save her instead of to be with me? I don't want this wedding any more than you do, Hermione, but I'll do whatever it takes to protect my family. _She_," he pronounced the word with a look of disgust, "is not family. I don't care what happens to her." He looked strong and determined, a major change from the way he was during the war. The death of Voldemort was clearly a huge weight taken from his shoulders, and without it he stood taller and stronger than ever before.

It was quiet for a moment after Draco's declaration, and I could hear water lapping at the shore of the Black Lake. Shattering that moment of peaceful silence was my memory of what exactly you had said to convince me to marry you, and my cheeks burned. Draco noticed and raised an eyebrow, and I shifted uncomfortably. I needed to explain and here the words were at last, but I wished I didn't have to be the one to speak them. "Er- well... You're the only Malfoy heir, right?"

Draco nodded tersely, clearly not grasping what I was getting at. I cleared my throat, my face still flushed, and forced myself to continue. I struggled to keep my voice matter-of-fact, as yours had been, but probably only succeeded in sounding like an idiot. "Well, um... You would be expected to father children, right? To continue the family line?"

After what felt like an eternity of staring at me in confusion Draco seemed to catch on. He smirked. "You're going to marry my psychotic aunt and spend the rest of your life with her... to avoid shagging me. Is that it? That's all she had to say to convince you?" He laughed and I wished that something, anything at all, would take me away from this moment. Perhaps the Giant Squid would come out of the lake and carry me off, perhaps a meteor would fall and squish me flat. Anything but looking back at Draco's eyes, alit with his usual terrible glee.

"It's not funny," I muttered. "The Ministry clearly didn't think of this, or maybe they just don't care. But I do care, a lot. They're already trying to sell my hand, they don't need the rest of my body too."

Draco finally stopped laughing at that, then looked at me curiously. "Ah, well, that does make sense, Gra- Hermione. Of course you would care about that. To be honest, I never thought of that at all." Now was his turn to look embarrassed.

I sighed. "Neither did I, until Bellatrix brought it up. I was about to tell her to sod off until she said it, and I just can't forget about it."

There was another awkward pause. "Well, erm... Is this because I'm a bloke?" he blurted out. I couldn't help but laugh; I was very strongly reminded of Ron. Draco scowled at me, his pale cheeks flushed. "Don't laugh, I'm serious. You're a girl, obviously. You would rather marry Aunt Bella than me because you don't want to have to sleep with me. Is she the better option because she's a woman?" He spoke rather quickly and scuffed the ground with his foot to avoid my astonished gaze.

"No, no, it's not like that. I'm, er, I'm not gay, Draco. Really. She promised that we would be married in name only, enough to satisfy the Ministry but we don't have to live together or... or anything like that." He looked at me suspiciously, as though he didn't believe me. "It's true! I just really can't see myself having kids..." My voice trailed off to avoid adding 'especially with a git like you', which would no doubt create more problems than it was worth.

After watching me shrewdly for another moment, Draco sighed again. He looked incredibly weary, as if the world had been placed on his shoulders and I was refusing to bear the load. I squirmed with guilt, but knew that I couldn't back down. If nothing else, I dreaded your reaction if I backed out of our agreement. "So that's it then. You'll help her and not me over something so insignificant, so stupid. She doesn't deserve mercy, Hermione. She deserves to die, or be put back in jail. And you deserve better than her." I was surprised that he would say something as nice at that, but there was something about his little speech that irked me.

"Stupid and insignificant? Excuse me, Draco, for thinking this is important. Excuse me for trying to have some semblance of control over my life." I knew that he was trying to do the same thing, and that it was childish of me to walk off with nothing resolved, but I felt that there was nothing either of us could add to the solution now. He was right and I would eventually need to face his parents to tell them the change in plans, but the very thought of such an unpleasant encounter terrified me. I turned away from him and swept up towards the castle, walking faster after thought I heard him behind me. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that he was not following; he did not even call out, just remained where he was looking utterly frustrated. I turned back and broke into a run.

My feet led me automatically towards Gryffindor Tower, leaving me free to look around at the rubble that was still scattered across many of the destroyed corridors. There had been massive efforts to restore the castle to its former glory, especially the Great Hall, but Professor McGonagall was concerned that the school would not be ready in time to reopen in September. Of course, I would not be likely to attend, as home sweet home. The Fat Lady swung open just as I approached, and to my delight it was Harry and Ron that had pushed the portrait open on the other side.

"Hermione!" Harry seems to have finally gotten a good night's sleep, as he called out eagerly to me and threw his arms around me. I laughed and hugged him back, happy to have such a good friend around instead of putting up with you and Draco. Merlin, it felt so nice to have a peaceful moment alone with my friends again. I turned, smiling widely, towards Ron but instead saw him hanging back.

The smile slid off my face at once. "What's the matter, Ron?" He turned to me with an ugly look on his face, his ears red and his expression oddly scathing.

"Oh, I don't know, Hermione. Wait a minute, aren't you getting married? Don't you think that might be what's wrong? Doesn't that strike you as a problem?" Harry reached a hand out towards his best friend, but Ron shook him off angrily, his chest heaving. His ears were as vivid a red as his hair, always a telling sign.

"Ron…" Looking between the two it was plain that they had argued over this many times before while I was waiting outside the hospital. Harry turned to me, his eyes full of sorrow and despair, silently begging me not to be angry with Ron. I knew how he hated being stuck in the middle of our fights, but this one was shaping up to be something else, something worse.

"How dare you?" I whispered, taking a step towards him. Harry stepped back quickly, but Ron held his ground, to his credit. "Do you think I'm happy about this? Do you think I wanted this?"

"Well, I certainly don't see you doing anything to stop it," he shot back.

"What? You can't be serious, Ron. What do you bloody expect me to do? This is the Ministry of Magic, not some school rule. It's a law. Or do you think those are optional?"

"I don't get it, Hermione. Do you want to marry Malfoy? Is that it? Are you so quiet about all of this because this is just what you wanted?" Harry groaned and clapped a hand over his face.

"WHAT?" This was well below the belt; Ron insisting that I actually wanted to spend my life with that nasty boy? I was absolutely speechless, and Ron took that as an opening to plow on.

"I see how it is, Hermione. You kept telling Harry and I to lay off him, not to get him angry, even when you knew we were right." Harry was shaking his head frantically, trying desperately to extract himself from Ron's argument. "That's why you turned me down the other night when I said I would try to stop this for you. You wanted this to go forward, you wanted to be with him. You've probably been fantasizing about this day for years, about walking around as Mrs. Hermione Malfoy, of living in a nice fancy mansion and having a bunch of little blond brats running around." His face was twisted with rage as he stepped towards me again, getting right up in my face. "Tell me something, Hermione. Is it just his money that you want? Or is it his-"

I never found out what else Ron was about to say, as my hand betrayed my self control and slapped him across the face. It was a rather hard blow, if I do say so myself, but he flew across the corridor and hit the opposite wall. It took a shocked moment to realize I had done unconscious magic for the first time since I was a little girl, my anger overcoming me completely. I was shaking with fury as Ron staggered to his feet, threw Harry and me a final filthy look, and stalked away self-righteously.

"Where do you think you are going, Ronald Weasley? GET BACK HERE, YOU ARSE!" I started to charge after him, wand drawn, but Harry grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"Let him go, Hermione. You know how he gets, he just needs to calm down. He'll realize how awful that was and he'll come back to make it right, you'll see… He usually does…" I could easily break Harry's grip, but kept myself from struggling against him.

"What was all of that about?" I asked, feigning calmness to get Harry to release me. He did so and turned to face me, his shoulders hanging in defeat.

"He felt that you were not angry enough about the Ministry's new law. He spent days talking about it and deluded himself into thinking…well…" He looked at me warily before continuing very quickly. "He reckons you fancy Malfoy, which is why you're not making a big enough fuss about the wedding."

Not a big enough fuss? I had agreed to marry you, for Merlin's sake, but of course Harry didn't know that. Of course, he would need to know eventually; everyone would. If we wanted the Ministry to rearrange the wedding then they would need to know that changes had been made, and to do that I would need to break the news to them. I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath, hoping that Harry wouldn't react too badly considering how Ron had just behaved. "Harry, there's something I need to tell you… You see, I'm-"

Harry looked at me in confusion, opening his mouth slightly. The rest of my words were interrupted, however, by an anguished scream from the floor below us. We looked at each other, eyes wide. What horror could there possibly be now? Even worse, we recognized the voice. We turned simultaneously and ran for the stairs, ignoring the portraits that woke up along the corridor and began to shout after us. "Fleur…"


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Still feeling really unmotivated to do anything… Apologies in advance if this chapter sucks as a result. I feel like they've been getting worse and worse as I meander along. I have a bunch of ideas that seem like fun for this story, but I never really feel like writing them :/ Lyrics are from Deep Water Horizon by Epica, which is from their newest album that anyone with ears should listen to and enjoy. By the way, I also reuse the talking Patronus incantation I made up for Haunted here, and like before I don't know any Latin aside from what appears in the books. Fun fact, according to the all-knowing Mugglenet, **_**Crucio**_** is Latin for "I torture" and **_**Imperio**_** is "I control". That's the extent of my Latin, and frankly I don't see why I would ever need more than that. All right, I'll get to the chapter now.**

**-Ophelia**

_We have to wait_

_For a dying day_

_Full of black decay_

_We'll find a way_

_To become aware_

_Breathing tainted air_

_We change the lanes_

_In every second of our lives_

"Fleur?" Harry and I sprinted down the stairs, jumping the last few steps as the staircase began to move away. My heart was pounding in my throat; what else could possibly have happened? The war is over, we won. Why hasn't our misery ended? We found her sprawled on the ground in the corridor, her shimmering hair falling across her face as she continued screaming. It was a heart-rending sound, full of despair beyond words. "Fleur...?" We approached the wailing witch cautiously, not wanting to startle her. She finally took notice of Harry and me and sat up abruptly.

She had been hunched over Bill's body, which was mangled and broken. My gut roiled at the gruesome sight. Blood spread from his body in a pool all around him, staining Fleur's robes and splattered over her skin. I had never seen so much blood in my life; I could hardly believe it all came from one person. There was the strong metallic stench of iron in the air, which made me gag. I took a tentative step closer to the body, covering my nose with my robe, while Harry moved to comfort Fleur. Bill's clothes were ripped to shreds, but this was of minor importance, as his skin was as well. Large chunks of flesh had been torn out and tossed around, judging by the smears of blood across the floor, and lay scattered around the corpse. His face was slashed even worse than it had been last year, and he was only recognizable by his long, flaming red Weasley hair. Perhaps the most disturbing feature was the slimy heap of innards that lay besides the gaping cavity of his torso.

It was a brutal and disgusting way to die, especially for a good man like Bill Weasley. "He didn't deserve this," I murmured. "Nobody deserves this." Fleur sobbed harder in response, but Harry nodded solemnly. I turned to the grieving widow, reluctant to pester her for information but needing to get to the bottom of this. I could see a familiar gleam in Harry's eye, despite the sadness there as well, and knew that I probably looked the same. Here we were again with a mystery to solve, a puzzle to work out and odds to overcome. It was an irresistible situation, and despite the tragedy we wanted nothing more than to know what happened and why.

But of course, we had to try to be considerate, delicate. Harry looked pleadingly at me and I sighed. Why do I always have to be the smooth talker? I knelt down beside Fleur and wrapped an arm over her blood-drenched shoulder. Her willowy frame was shaking with sobs, and I wasn't sure if she could even hear me. "Fleur..."

She abruptly stopped sobbing and flinched away from me, gazing at me through her bloodshot eyes. Even with her hair a mess and her face pink from crying she was exceptionally beautiful. She looked desperate and lost as she stared at me, and for a moment it was just like watching you fall apart over your master again. Hopefully Fleur would not react in the same way, but she looked hysterical. All of a sudden, I felt rather frightened to speak to her, as if she would leap up and try to kill me as you might have done. It was an irrational fear; after all, this was just Fleur. The same Fleur who was in the Triwizard Tournament, the same Fleur whose wedding I went to. She would never attack me, not as you would, but I couldn't bring myself to speak to her. I looked to Harry for assistance, clearing my throat pointedly, and he hesitantly came forward as well.

"Fleur, what happened here? Who did this?" She shook her head, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "Please, this is important," he implored. "Is there anyone who may have had a grudge against him?" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him; of course there are. Bill was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, who had just won a war. Of course the Death Eaters would hold grudges, especially with this awful new law passed. Come on, Harry, is this the best you can do?

But Fleur's eyes widened, and her hands balled into fists. "Oui," she hissed. "Greyback. 'E did zis, 'Arry. 'E sent letters to my Bill all year. 'E said... 'e said..." She hid her face in her hands and cried something in French, but of course Harry and I had no idea what it was. After her outburst, she seemed to calm down again, lowering her hands again. She was crying harder now but tried to speak again. Her voice was shaking, but just barely decipherable. "Ze werewolf, 'e threatened my Bill all year. To finish what 'e started, 'e said. Bill burned ze letters and told me not to worry, and now..." She gestured to the mangled corpse that lay in gory pieces around her.

I stated at her in horror, but Harry squared his shoulders. "Let's go to see Madam Pomfrey, Fleur. She'll give you a nice calming draught, all right?" He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she did not cringe this time. He looked up at me, gesturing towards the remains of Bill Weasley on the ground. "How are we going to break this to Mrs. Weasley? And what should we do with him here? We can't just leave him, but it's not like we can bring him with us…"

My heart sank. "I don't know how to tell her, Harry. Not after they just lost Fred…" I took a deep breath, forcing myself to understand the situation. He was dead; there was no getting around that. It seemed hard to believe, after all of the bloodshed just days ago. Harry seemed to agree.

"This was not supposed to happen. The war is over now. We're supposed to be safe." He stamped his foot in frustration. "How could this have happened? I thought the Death Eaters were all being kept locked up, how could he have escaped?"

I looked at him, shocked. I had not even considered that, but of course there were still Death Eaters in Hogwarts. I should have remembered that; it was what got me into this whole mess with you in the first place. After seeing what the Order had done to you, I was certain that there was no way anybody else could escape, that they didn't have a chance. Harry said it all: How _could_ this have happened? "I'll tell the Order, they'll know what to do. _Expecto Patronum Mobiliarum_." I raised my wand and focused hard on memories from before the war, of hanging out at the Burrow with Harry and Ron, of childish joy and sunshine and happiness. The shining silver otter shot out from the end of my wand and stood at attention, awaiting my message. I took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain the sight before me.

I tried to start casually, almost lighthearted. "Hey, guys, this is Hermione. Harry and I are up here on the sixth floor with Fleur, we're heading down to the hospital wing. You see… Bill's dead." At that, Fleur let out a shriek of misery and threw herself to the ground, and I had to raise my voice over her while Harry tried to calm her. I gulped before continuing, willing my next words to vanish before anyone heard them. If nobody said it, it would feel less true. "It's a real mess; we think it was Greyback that got him. We don't know what to do," I whispered, my voice refusing to stay strong and detached. I couldn't keep talking, so I sent the message off to Professor McGonagall. My eyes suddenly burned with unshed tears, and a painful lump blocked my throat. The numb haze that filled me since we discovered what was left of Bill seemed to vanish, leaving me a complete wreck. I had not known Bill very well, but I knew considered his family to be mine, and they were already stricken by the death of Fred. How much more could we all take of this? When does it end, when have we suffered enough?

Hurried footsteps sounded in the corridor, and as I raised my head I could see McGonagall rushing towards us, looking even more serious than usual. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, what happened here?" she asked, eyes widening at the gruesome sight before her. "Oh dear…" Her piercing gaze swept over the carnage across the ground, finally falling on the part-Veela sprawled across the floor. McGonagall seemed to steel herself at the sight, tucking away her horror and approaching Fleur. I felt enormously relieved to see her, knowing that someone much smarter, stronger and more experienced than me was now in control of the situation. "Mrs. Weasley, it will be all right now. Up you get, we ought to bring you down to see Madam Pomfrey." Fleur shook her lovely head frantically.

"No, no, it will not be all right. Bill is dead. I will not be all right." She threw her arms around Harry's neck and screamed in despair, burying her face into his shoulder. Harry looked desperate to extract himself from that position, but did not want to further upset Fleur. In another situation I would have laughed at his discomfort before helping him out, but here there was nothing at all funny about it, and I didn't move. Professor McGonagall did, though, and gently but firmly pulled Harry out of her grasp.

"Mrs. Weasley, I must insist. We'll give you a calming draught and decide how best to capture the one who did this." She turned to me. "You said that it was Fenrir Greyback, is that correct? How have you two worked that out? Are you positive?"

Harry stepped forward. "Fleur said that he had been sending threatening messages to him all year, Professor. After he attacked Bill last year, he said he wanted to finish it. Also, who else would make such a mess?" She seemed to consider him for a moment and Harry shrunk from her searching gaze like a wilting plant, but then she turned away to face me.

"We will not touch the body just yet. The Weasleys should not see this, certainly not, but this is a crime scene. The Aurors will want to take a look before he is moved, and we will ask Molly and Arthur what they would like us to do next." She waved her wand in several complicated motions, muttering incantations under her breath, and the air around us shimmered. Of course; she would need to set wards to keep others away. "I will inform Kingsley of what happened as soon as possible, we need the body examined within the hour. It will not do at all to leave him lying here, that would be unhygienic and disrespectful." McGonagall strode over to Fleur's shaking form and knelt down. "Your husband was a wonderful man, Mrs. Weasley, and he never deserved anything like this. I'm terribly sorry that you two had such a short time together. Please, do stand up."

After a few minutes, her sobs lowering into sniffles, Fleur rose from her crouched position. In an unusual show of emotion and compassion, McGonagall wrapped an arm comfortingly around her shoulders and led her away from the mangled remains of her husband. Harry and I glanced at each other, then at the body, then at the women making their way from the corridor, then back at each other. I could see the desperation and worry in his eyes, and knew that he was thinking the same thing that I was, about how the war was tearing us all apart even after it ended.

There was nothing else that could be done here, so we rushed down the stairs to reach the hospital wing with McGonagall and Fleur. Harry pulled the heavy doors open and gestured for the ladies to enter first, and then we all stepped into the ward. Professor McGonagall quickly went over to Madam Pomfrey, explaining in a low whisper what had just occurred. Madam Pomfrey let out a shocked gasp, then hurried into her office for a moment while Fleur was led to a bed and asked to lie down. Fleur wasn't having it.

"No! No! I do not want to be calm, I do not want to feel better! My Bill is dead! Where iz zat werewolf? I will kill him! I will kill him like 'e killed Bill! I will tear 'im apart! Let go of me!" She was thrashing furiously against the old professor, fighting tooth and nail to leave the room. A sudden harsh laugh filled the room, and everyone spun around quickly to face the source.

Ah, of course, you were still here recovering. It had only been a few hours since I left here, but it felt like years. How could I have forgotten you so quickly? Your black eyes were filled with a terrible glee as you watched Fleur struggle, as she screamed her desire for bloodshed and revenge. "My, what a lovely girl. Such violence, and ambition." You laughed again. "I like this one." Harry thrust his hand into his pocket upon sight of you, preparing to pull out his wand.

"You!" he shouted. "You dare to show your filthy face here? You killed Sirius, you bitch!" He strode forward and placed his wand on your forehead, breathing heavily. You didn't bat an eyelid, still focused on Fleur as she squirmed against McGonagall's grip. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now, you vile piece of scum," he snarled. His insults were similar to the ones you always had for me, and they sounded far weaker in Harry's voice. Even so, I had never seen him so angry in my life, not even when dealing with Umbridge.

You glanced at him as though finally noticing him, your expression disdainful as ever. Merlin, would a bit of humility kill you? Could you not see that your life might be in danger? You reached up and grasped Harry's wrist, but did not pull his wand away from yourself. He stared at you, transfixed, his face contorted with his terrible rage. "Go on, then, Potter. Kill me. I killed my cousin, and my niece. Kill me. I tortured that Mudblood," you jerked your head in my direction without taking your eyes from Harry, "and the Longbottoms, and who knows how many else? Kill me. I've spent my whole life serving the man who murdered your parents, and I was his finest and proudest servant. Kill me. You want me dead? I'm right here and I won't defend myself. JUST FUCKING KILL ME!" you screamed at him. You looked demented, your eyes wild and your hair crackling with magic.

Harry pulled his hand out of your slackened grip and stepped back, horrified. "What are you playing at?" he demanded furiously. Despite his anger, his voice shook with fear. His brow was furrowed in confusion, and his scowl softened somewhat into a frown. "What the hell is going on…" he muttered. I looked back at you; you looked utterly miserable, like a child whose promised treat was snatched away from them at the last second. I wanted to talk to you again, but felt McGonagall's eyes on me. She knew that I understood what had just happened and why, and would undoubtedly pounce on me for information the first chance she got.

I sighed and turned my back on you, hoping to help calm Fleur down. After all, she could hardly just go charging off to attack Greyback in such a hysterical state. This was my first mistake; failing to keep an eye on you for even a moment. "Oh, ignoring me now, are we, Mudblood? My, what a lovely wife you'll make, hmm? I can hardly wait, such fun we'll have…" Busted.

Harry turned around slowly, his emerald eyes hard and angry. "What did she just say, Hermione? What's she talking about?" He spoke through gritted teeth and for a moment I let myself believe that you didn't hear him. But of course you did, and you were more than happy to take the question for me.

"Oh, didn't you hear, Potter?" Your voice was innocent, as was your expression, but there was no mistaking your usual cruelty that lurked under your false tone and sparkled in your eyes. "Your dear Mudblood and I are getting married. Didn't she tell you? She seemed just so excited, jumping at any chance to get away from my poor nephew." You pouted overdramatically and childishly. "The boy is certainly missing out, but I suppose she just prefers me." You grinned at him, a rather alarming expression that I had learned almost always preceded imminent disaster.

Harry gaped at her for a moment before he rounded on me while McGonagall stood to the side, speechless. He grabbed the front of my robes, pulling me forward so that I was an inch away from him. "What the fuck, Hermione? How could you?" Your laughter was ringing in my ears as I scrambled to find the right words. There were tears in Harry's eyes, but I was infuriated. Not just in the way you had taken it upon yourself to break the news to him, but in how easily he believed it.

"Harry, calm down. Do you honestly believe her, just like that? There's much more to it than that." He stared at me, unimpressed. "I was trying to tell you, right before we heard Fleur screaming. I would never keep things from you, Harry."

"Oh, you wouldn't? Fine, then. Tell me everything. Why did she want to talk to you in the first place? Why did you try to save her when she ran away? What did you talk about today when you came here? Why are you getting married? What is going on here?" He released me and threw me forward so that I crashed into your bed. You pushed me away to keep me from landing on you, and I fell to the ground, losing my balance completely.

It was all too much, seeing both of my best friends turn on me one right after another, with the prospect of spending the rest of my life with you looming ahead of me. I nearly burst into tears right then and there, but the only thing keeping me together was your scornful gaze burning into my back. I couldn't explain any of it to Harry, nor to anybody else. I took a deep breath before looking up at the man I considered to be my brother, who was glaring down at me with anger and disgust. "Harry, please just calm down. I'll try to tell you what I can, but I can't share everything. I'm doing the best I can." He continued to stare at me, then slowly nodded.

"Tell me."


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Oh my god. I've become one of **_**those**_** authors. You know, the ones that go a month without updating. I'm so sorry, my dear readers. I've been going through a terrible time lately for no apparent reason, and it's been extremely hard for me to write. I'm so sorry. To those of you who mentioned in your reviews how stupid the plan of the Ministry's is, I'm quite glad you think that. Anger was just the reaction I was going for there, and I wanted it to look completely unreasonable. Please remember, though, that it this point there is absolutely no romance between Bellatrix and Hermione in any way, shape or form. That comes later. Thanks for all of your reviews, I appreciate any feedback. Lyrics are from The Last Crusade by Epica.**

**-Ophelia**

_You can't get away with your crimes_

_And you never will_

_For you'll have to pay the price_

_And the time is near_

_No more innocence left to kill_

"Mr. Potter, what on earth are you doing?" Professor McGonagall had finally stopped fretting and decided to act, pulling me to my feet. It was most unusual for her to be stunned into passivity like that, but then again it was equally unusual for Harry to get violent, and for me to cry in public. The only person acting like themselves was you, gleefully watching the proceedings from your bed, and that was by no means a good thing.

"Well now, baby Potter; I can't have you treating my future wife like that. How terribly rude." You let out one of your trademark cackles and I felt my stomach sink at the very sound. Merlin, what had I been thinking, agreeing to spend the rest of my life with you? I turn wearily to look at you, as did Harry and McGonagall. Your thin lips were set in an absurd pout, but your eyes flashed with cruel excitement. I haven't seen you so animated in days; you were straining to leave the bed, which I could see Madam Pomfrey had magically bound you to. No doubt the Order still considered you a flight risk, seeing how you had taken off in a near-death condition only days previously. I sighed. The wedding would sort that out soon enough, but then I might be the one trying to escape. What length would you go to keep me from calling everything off?

It was time to find out. The more I considered my upcoming marriage, the worse it sounded, and the more desperate I became. It was a stupid plan, foolish and hasty, and with every person I told about it I felt less and less sure of my decision. Draco had been on his very best behavior and assured me that if we were married, he would continue to be. You had done nothing of the sort. Why should I listen to you? Why would I tie myself to someone who continues to abuse and insult me, even after promising not to? Harry and McGonagall were glaring daggers at you, while Madam Pomfrey quietly administered a sleeping potion to Fleur, who was still struggling to get up and fight. After a long moment, nobody said or did anything else, and I spoke up.

"You know, I'm not really too sure on this whole wedding thing, Bellatrix. You promised to be nicer to me, remember? You even promised to use my given name. Draco does that, and you would have me choose you over him?" Your eyes widened, then your face set in a snarl. You didn't need to say anything for me to know what you were thinking. Here I was again, some stupid little girl trying to give you orders as if I ran the place, as if I was _superior_ to you, the last scion of House Black. You opened your mouth, no doubt to say just that, but I raised my eyebrows and silently mouthed 'Azkaban'. Your mouth snapped shut as the blood drained from your face. There it was again, the only hand I had to play, but one that we both knew would win every time.

"Will someone explain what's going on?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. Oh, Harry. He does get terribly upset when he is kept out of the loop, no matter for what reason. He had shown that clearly enough in the summer before our fifth year, and I knew that he would be relentless in harassing me for information if I didn't share it with him now. I sighed and sat down on the foot of your bed, which was far more comfortable than the straight-backed wooden chairs to its side. Your foot twitched, as if you longed to kick me until I got up, but with my recent reminder you didn't dare harm me. I briefly considered stretching out besides you, just to watch you squirm and try to contain your rage, but your self control was weak at best and I knew that would very quickly shatter it.

I looked up at Harry, who was breathing heavily in an attempt to calm himself. At the other end of the bed, you were doing the same, but I ignored you and focused on my unofficial brother. His vivid eyes were desperate as he tried to comprehend what was going on in front of him, and to find a solution to my problem that would not result in my being wed to the abhorrent dark witch. "I don't want to marry Draco," I began simply. "Bellatrix doesn't want to go to prison. This is the only way we could take care of both of those without the Ministry getting in the way. After all, I think this goes above and beyond the call of duty, for me to marry her," I added snidely, casting a sideways glance at you. You balled the sheets in your fist and pressed your lips together tightly, but forced yourself not to shoot back a derisive reply. I felt a wave of smug satisfaction. It doesn't feel so good to be insulted all the time, does it?

Harry looked thoughtful, but McGonagall had removed her glasses and was pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "The two of you are oversimplifying the matter, I'm afraid. I must say I expected better of you, such bright students. The Ministry of Magic will by no means be pleased with this. As you have clearly forgotten, Miss Black has been convicted of her many crimes, and will pay for them with her death. A wedding will not save her."

You let out a loud gasp and I turn to look at you, surprised to see your mouth hanging open in shock, trying to take in what you had just heard. You normally have far better control of your expression than this, but a death sentence would shake just about anybody. "And why has nobody seen fit to tell me _that_," you spat, after a moment of silence.

"I forgot about it," I mumbled, hanging my head in shame. Come on, Hermione, what's wrong with you? I never forget anything.

"You forgot?" you shrieked. You sat bolt upright in the bed, wincing as the motion tugged at your partly healed wounds, but pointed a bony, clawed finger at me. It was a gesture of condemnation, as though I had purposely left out such vital information. I had done no such thing, but quailed before you all the same. "How could you forget? If you were going to die, I would surely remember that."

Yes, you surely would. Why not? I was the enemy, after all, and you loved nothing more than to bask in the sorrow of those you hated. I was certainly at the top of that list for you, a Mudblood who refused to learn her place no matter how many times you struck her down. But… I had not remembered that you were going to die, I had not remembered your demise. What did that mean? Did that mean that I no longer considered you an enemy anymore, if I felt nothing more than a cold pit of horror at what should have been good news? It was as if I had been the one facing an execution, such was my despair. It was because this signaled the end of my plan, yes, that must be it. I felt no compassion for you, not here, not now. _But you did before,_ came a tiny voice in the back of my mind. _You went out to find her when she ran off, you tried to save her._ But that was the love potion, I was tricked… _You cared when they had her bound in chains and beaten. They hurt her and you made it stop, you protected her._ I shivered, the voice had me there. But surely I would have helped anyone in that situation, right? It was the decent, human thing to do, to help her. It was nothing personal, it couldn't be…

McGonagall's voice jerked me from my reverie, and I turned gratefully to her. "Miss Granger, if you really want to do this then you must decide on a better plan of action." Her mouth was pulled down in a frown, an expression that she rarely had when speaking to me. "I'm sure you two had stronger, more detailed reasons for deciding upon such a scheme," _Not really…_ "but few people will be willing to listen to them, least of all the Ministry."

"Won't Shacklebolt listen?" you asked. "I thought he liked her." You jerked your chin at me, still too angry to use my name but careful not to return to petty insults that would lose my support. Professor McGonagall sighed.

"He may, but it is a faint hope. But you must understand that the entire public has been screaming for your death for, well, years." You smiled smugly at that and she shot you a glare. "It is no laughing matter, Miss Black. An attitude like that will only inflame them against you further, if that's even possible. Now, I'm unclear on what exactly happened between you two in the Forbidden Forest." She paused and gave me a look that made it perfectly clear that I was to explain all of that later. I groaned and you laughed, but McGonagall continued as if she had heard neither of us. "However, that means we can spin it any way we want. Nobody but the pair of you knows why Miss Granger went out there to help, and Kingsley has been very eager to hear the reason. This may be just the thing that can convince him to overturn the sentence."

I had no idea what she was getting at, and from Harry's puzzled expression he didn't either, but you leaned forward with a frown to match hers. "I think I see what this is about, McGonagall. You want it to appear that the Mu – ah, _Hermione_ – has some kind of control over me. You want to tell the Ministry that if we get married, she will keep a close eye on me, to the point where it's just another prison." You slumped back onto the pile of pillows behind you, your frown deepening into a scowl. "I don't like it," you declared vehemently.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but Harry looked unsure. "Do you think they'll care? If they wanted her in jail, they would put her there and that would be the end of it. But they don't. They want her dead, and they won't take anything less than that."

"No, Harry," I said quietly. "That's not what they want, it's what you want. They just need her out of the way and away from the public, and a wedding is cleaner than an execution. Besides, it follows their ridiculous new law to the letter. Who better to make an example of than Voldemort's best warrior?"

"Don't you dare say his name," you snarled, but I ignored that, fixing my gaze on Harry. He looked positively livid; his hatred for you ran deep and strong. Worse still, it was entirely justified, and almost everybody in the Wizarding felt the same way. It was hard to see him so angry, sitting here so eager for you to be killed, and I knew that no matter what I said or did he would be right there opposing me.

Harry took a step forward. "She deserves to die, Hermione. Look at what she's done, tell me she doesn't deserve it. You know she does. Why do you want to save her? Why does she matter? If it was you about to die, she would laugh her ass off and then walk away without a look back, you know she would. Why do you care so much?" He had placed his hands on my shoulders and bent down to my level. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, much to my surprise and dismay. I had never waned to hurt Harry with this; I had never wanted to hurt anyone. I just wanted to help her. But _why?_

"Because, whether she acts like it or not, she's still human. And I can't just stand by and watch a human die when I can save them," I told him softly. It wasn't the truth, not all of it at least, but it was the closest to the truth that I could get.

"She wouldn't do that for you! She doesn't deserve it, Hermione!" he shouted, straightening again.

"Well, good thing I'm not asking you, then, Potter," you spat furiously. Your eyes flashed with your usual ferocity as you glared at him. "Do you normally speak about people as if they aren't right in front of you? I must say, it ill becomes you, from what I had heard about you. What happened to the great and kind Harry Potter, hmm?"

"What kindness do I owe you, Lestrange?" he demanded, advancing on you until your faces were a foot apart. "You killed Sirius!"

"I only Stunned Sirius, you blind fool! That bloody veil killed him!" you retorted, regarding him haughtily.

"It's still your fault!" He was yelling now.

"Why does it fucking matter? It is done! That's what happens in a battle! You kill or you get killed!" Your voice had risen to a shout as well.

"Enough! I will not have you bickering like children! Contain yourselves!" McGonagall strode forward and pulled a fuming Harry away by the arm. "Let us get back to the matter at hand. Miss Black, I know what you were planning. You wanted to marry Miss Granger to protect yourself, then run off and do whatever you want without her." You nodded sullenly, still glowering at Harry. "That cannot happen. The Ministry may allow the marriage, and they might even be convinced not to kill you, but only if you and Miss Granger will remain together afterwards. We will need to convince them, as you said, that she can keep control over you, and keep you from hurting anybody."

You crossed your arms angrily and said nothing, but I turned to her. "How exactly are we supposed to do that, Professor? I… I don't have that kind of power, and they know it." A slight smirk crossed your face, further confirming what I had said.

To my great surprise, McGonagall smiled at that. "No, we cannot expect them to believe that you can force her to stay. However, after such a terrible war, everyone is eager to see some happiness again. We can convince them that you two _want_ to be together, that you _want_ to be married, the same as any other couple would."

You had heard enough and were shaking your head violently, your wild hair whipping all around. "No. No no no no and no. I won't do it. I can't do it. You think I can pretend to be in love with such fil – ah, someone – like her?" I rolled my eyes at how hard you had to try to keep from insulting me all the time. You looked almost physically pained by it, constantly being on the alert for degradation and correcting yourself when you so desperately wanted to say it. To be honest, I was rather impressed that you were paying so much attention, especially after watching your conversation with your sister earlier. You hardly spaced out at all, which came as quite a relief.

"I agree, Professor. I could never pull that off, really, isn't there-"

"Another way? No, there isn't," she said curtly. "If you loved each other, then you would want to stay together, and you would listen to each other. You cannot be joined in name only, as I'm aware that many Pureblood couples do, and simply live apart. The Ministry will never accept that. This is your only option, Miss Black, if you intend to live. Even if you do choose it, you will both need to put on a very convincing performance indeed. I have nothing else to say. Good day to you all, and I hope you can come to a decision." With that, she swept from the room, leaving us gaping speechlessly at her.

"Wait, Professor!" Harry hurried after her, clearly not wanting to be left alone with us for a moment longer. The heavy door swung shut behind him, and the room was dead silent aside from the sounds of Fleur's heavy breathing from where she lay asleep in her bed. After a few tense minutes you turn to me.

"What do you propose we do now, then?" you asked, breathing heavily and trying hard to keep your temper in check. With Professor McGonagall gone, any yelling would draw out Madam Pomfrey from her room in a heartbeat. I shook my head desperately.

"I don't like it anymore than you do, but I think McGonagall's right." You groaned and leaned back, tapping me sharply in the side with your foot to get me off your bed at last. I stood up, and you stretched out under the blanket.

"I need to think about this. Leave me."

"But…" You fixed me with a stern glare, leaving no room for argument. By the time I left the ward, you were asleep and that tiny voice in my head was buzzing for answers I did not have. I sighed. This marriage business was turning out to be much more work than I had anticipated.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: This was another chapter written on receipts at work, which made for an awkward six hours with my coworkers trying to peer over my shoulder to see what I was working on... Hopefully I'll be able to get back into updating more frequently and not leave you guys hanging again. I'd also like to thank all of you who have reviewed, I love seeing what you think of the story so far. For those of you who haven't yet, please review, it takes a few moments for you but motivates me through every word. Lyrics are from United States of Eurasia/Collateral Damage by Muse.**

**-Ophelia**

_You and me fall in line_

_To be punished for unproven crimes_

_And we know that there's no one we can trust_

_Our ancient heroes, they are turning to dust_

_And these wars; they can't be won_

_Does anyone know or care how they begun?_

_They just promise to go on and on and on_

Nothing gets me worked up as much as a lengthy conversation with you, and although this one had been relatively tame it still took hours of stomping around the castle for me to cool down enough to return to the Common Room. It was loud, warm and packed as usual, and the familiar sight of all these chattering students was oddly soothing. Despite the war, or perhaps because of it, they clung stubbornly to the people they once had been. They laughed and joked as always, and still had not lost themselves to the darkness that surrounded them. It was a somewhat bittersweet realization, for I knew that I had not been nearly so fortunate myself.

Even with the safety of the castle, surrounded by those I had called friends for seven long years, I still couldn't bring myself to relax and drop my guard. I saw an enemy in every shadow, took each step preparing to break into a desperate run the next, and kept my wand within reach at all times. I never unpacked my beaded bag, just in case the time would come when I needed it again, when I needed to put my life on hold and say my last goodbyes and take off, never to be found. Harry and Ron were the same way, I knew. Both being in the thick of the action and being hunted down by Snatchers had robbed us of whatever childish innocence we once held. Even before the war, though, that innocence had been gradually wearing thin. Every adventure within the castle throughout the years had taught us that the only people we could trust was each other, and created warriors out of children who should have been more focused on their studies than on keeping themselves alive. Harry had been hit the hardest by this, having been forced to the forefront of any and all deadly trouble at Hogwarts over the last several years, but Ron and I paid the toll as well.

As I stepped further into the room, the crowd parted for me as if I had some contagious disease, as if my misfortune would leap from me onto them if they so much as made eye contact with me. It was incredibly unnerving to walk past all of these people, feeling their silent gazes upon me but refusing to meet my eyes. They were not so obvious as to turn their whole bodies away from me, but as I slowly and awkwardly passed, it was as if I was both the most and least visible person in the entire crowded room. By the time I had reached the overstuffed couches before the roaring fireplace, I felt as if I had run a marathon. Thankfully, Harry and Ron were both in our usual spots, and as I sank down gratefully beside them I felt the last lingering eyes turn away.

It was the first time I had seen Ron since he had yelled at me for my supposed lack of reaction to my impending marriage, and for a moment I was shocked to see the redness in his eyes. What on earth had he been crying about? Was it my fault somehow? "Ron, I –" The beginning of the sentence had not yet left my lips when I cut it short, remembering. _Bill_. Of course Ron was crying, his oldest brother had been brutally murdered. I felt horribly ashamed of myself, and more than a little confused. How could I possibly have forgotten that? How could I have forgotten the way his body had been torn to pieces, or the pool of blood that had steadily spread throughout the entire corridor? My trainers and the hem of my robes were still soaked through with the stuff, and yet the incident had completely cleared my mind until this moment. Was this another price that we paid on the war, to be able to see such horrors and harden our hearts against them in a matter of hours? I tried to put my hand on Ron's arm, but he flinched away. "I'm so sorry…"

He looked up as I spoke, then glared at me and crossed his arms. I stared at him, utterly bewildered, but Harry sighed. He stood up and moved to Ron's other side, serving as a barrier between us, having had far too much experience with our fighting to let us sit right next to each other. It was a perfectly innocent and neutral move, but Ron fired up at once. "Oh, sure, Harry. Go ahead and defend her, why don't you. It's not like she just betrayed us all or anything!" His ears were quickly turning as red as his eyes and hair, and his voice was slowly rising in volume. I looked around wildly to see who had heard him, but in the chaos of the Common room nobody had spared so much as a glance in his direction.

I frowned, crossing my arms as well. It was bad enough to know that the Ministry considered me and other Muggle-born girls nothing more than pawns in their games of power, bad enough to know that we would be given away like chattel and meant as an insult to the remaining Death Eaters, and bad enough to deal with your constant hostility and the unspoken threats of potential violence that lay within your every glare. What could I have done to turn Ron against me as well? "What do you mean, I betrayed you?" Despite my best efforts to keep my voice calm and cool, I could not stop from hiding just how much this hurt.

"I think you know what you did," he replied darkly, refusing to elaborate when I raised an eyebrow at him. Merlin, this boy was making me feel like a petty criminal in one of the bad crime shows my parents used to watch. I turned away quickly to hide the tears that had suddenly and unhelpfully welled up in my eyes; the last thing I needed now was to think of my parents again, off living their blissfully unaware lives in Australia. They don't know I exist, and they certainly don't know that off in distant England one desperate girl named Hermione Granger is being forced to marry a complete monster by order of the very government that ought to focus on keeping her safe. Between Harry's actions earlier today and Ron's behavior now, I was under fire from all sides, by no fault of my own. Don't these two blockheads realize just how much I've sacrificed for them, to keep fighting in this war as the odds grew weaker and weaker and to keep watching their backs at every turn? Don't they see that, even after the smoke has cleared and a winner has been declared, there is still a battle going on that I'm once again in the middle of? Can't they see that I need their help right now, not their anger?

I did my best to push down my tears, then turned back to Harry for assistance. He was trying and failing miserably to escape my notice, as if by shrinking against the back cushion of the couch I wouldn't involve him in what was shaping up to be a fierce argument. There were few things that he hated as much as being stuck in the middle of a fight between Ron and I, but when he was being such a pig-headed git there really was nothing else I could do about it.

After another moment of uneasy silence between us, punctured by the shrieks and laughter of the students socializing all around us, Ron turned his scowl upon Harry as well. He squirmed uncomfortably, darting his head from side to side to look at us both, then gave another sigh. His two best friends were at a standoff once again, and it had fallen to him to smooth things over. "Look, Hermione, all I did was tell him what happened today. You know, with McGonagall and… _her_." His face twisted momentarily in disgust, but his voice was pleading and earnest. He wanted nothing more than to diffuse the tension as soon as humanly possible, and apparently decided that I would back down before Ron would. "I – I just stuck to the facts, I swear. I tried to tell it the same way you would have if you were here."

I rather doubted that he, my dear hot-headed Harry, had actually succeeded in recounting today's events in an unbiased manner, but I loved him for trying. I could tell that it was his way of apologizing for lashing out at me this afternoon after you had so caustically broken to him the news of our loathsome engagement. I took a deep breath. "What _exactly_ did you say, then?" I didn't want to insult Harry by implying that he wasn't completely honest, but I needed to hear exactly what had been said to figure out what had offended Ron the most.

As it turned out, he was more than happy to tell me that himself. "Well, let me think, Hermione," Ron said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He put a finger on his chin in mock concentration before continuing. "He told me all about how you two found Bill." His voice trembled despite himself, and he closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself before replacing his saddened expression with a sneer. "Then he mentioned something about you getting married to Bellatrix fucking Lestrange. When were you planning to tell us that you were going out of your way to spend your life with that psychotic bitch?"

Harry leaned in, his eyes pleading. "I also told him about all the stuff McGonagall said, you know. How she didn't seem to have much against this plan. If she wants to go with it, then it can't be that bad…" Ron let out a hollow laugh behind him.

"Oh, yeah, I left that bit out. The one where you two have to pretend to love each other, right? We wouldn't want the Ministry to kill your darling Bella, now would we?" I flinched away from him as if physically struck by his sharp words. I have never, in all my years of knowing him, seen him look at me with such disgust and contempt. His eyes, normally sparkling with laughter, were burning with rage, and he was just getting started. It was the same as his episode over Draco, but with his scorn magnified a hundredfold. Harry and I stared wordlessly at him, absolutely shocked. "I wish I could have seen the look on Malfoy's face when you told him that you were ditching him for his aunt. I never knew you were into girls, Hermione. It explains a lot, like why you turned down me and Malfoy; you just wanted a nice warm cunt in your bed…"

I slapped him.

For a long moment after, Ron looked at me and I looked at Ron and Harry looked at both of us in horror. I was breathing very quickly, my hand still held up as if to defend myself, or to hit him again. Something had broken between us; even with all of our fighting before neither of us had raised a hand to the other. I stood up angrily, ignoring Harry's hand clutching at my sleeve and making a beeline for the girl's dormitories. I needed a good night's sleep, and a good hard cry before that. Ron had crossed a line tonight, and I felt overwhelmed by everything that had taken place during this whole long day.

Neville stood up as I angrily shoved past him, grabbing my arm and turning me around to face him. "Hermione, what happened? What's wrong?" His round face was full of nothing but concern for me, the friend who had saved him in Potions class for so many years.

"Nothing, Neville," I muttered, not looking him in the eye. "I'm fine." He frowned, unwilling to let anybody, let alone a friend, slip by so easily when they could clearly use a gentle touch and a word of comfort. He put his arm around my shoulder and opened his mouth to speak when Ron came up behind us. Harry was still sitting on the couch, staring into the fire looking absolutely shell-shocked.

"Don't worry about her, Neville. She's probably just a bit nervous before her big day coming up," he said in an almost cheerful voice. I wanted to turn and run from the room, but Neville's arm kept me pinned in place.

He frowned, but gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Yeah, I heard about that. Malfoy's a nasty git, we know, but better him than one of the other Death Eaters. This law is terrible, Hermione, but this whole House is completely behind you." The Common Room had fallen silent, and all of the students were nodding solemnly at Neville's words. Even worse, they were listening carefully now, all previous frivolity put aside.

Ron looked at him in mock surprise, and I silently begged him not to say anything further. When I glanced up at him, I could see a bright red handprint on his cheek, and he looked down at me with an uncharacteristic sneer. Tears welled up in my eyes, but he wasn't quite done yet. "Yeah, it would have been much better if she stuck with him, like the Ministry wanted. But, as it turns out, there's been a bit of a change of plans. Hermione here has decided that she would rather marry Bellatrix Lestrange, to keep the Ministry from killing her. It makes sense, of course, that she doesn't deserve to die. It's not like she did anything _wrong_, never hurt anybody…"

That did it. I shoved Neville's arm off of me and sprinted to the girl's dormitory, keeping my eyes to the ground to avoid seeing everyone's shocked and hurt faces. The moment the door slammed shut behind me, I dove into my bed, pulled the curtains closed, and sobbed into my pillow.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Bluh. It's been six weeks now, but my motivation to keep this story going has been at an all-time low. This chapter is about twice the length of my usual ones, though. I feel like none of it is coming out the way I intended, and that I can't get the characters written the way I want. I do need to do a lot of technical editing on the past chapters, but right now moving the story forward is more important. That said, it's been one year ago today since I posted the first chapter of Haunted, and I've had a lot of fun writing for you guys, and I've met a lot of great writers and great people. Thanks for all of your feedback; I always like to hear what my readers think. Lyrics are from Butterflies and Hurricanes by Muse.**

**-Ophelia**

_Your number has been called_

_Fights and battles have begun_

_Revenge will surely come_

_Your hard times are ahead_

_Best, you've got to be the best_

_You've got to change the world_

_And use this chance to be heard_

_Your time is now_

_Don't let yourself down_

_Don't let yourself go_

_Your last chance has arrived_

The sunlight seemed to jab me hard in the eyes as the curtains were swept back. I blinked blearily, trying and failing to glare at the intruder who had so caustically woken me up. Oh Merlin, they're here to attack me, aren't they? I blindly scrabbled for my wand on the bedside table, eyes squinting hopelessly against the unwelcome brightness. The intruder slid onto the foot of the bed, forcing me to sit up as they closed the curtains again. "Hermione, wake up. I need to talk to you." With the hideously bright light gone, I could plainly see that my wand was in my pocket, right where it was when I had fallen asleep last night. I pulled it out, comforted by the protection it promised. I hadn't even changed my clothes or brushed my teeth last night, literally crying myself to sleep. How... pathetic. That sort of drama had always seemed reserved for girls like Lavender and Parvati, and I had spent years trying to distance myself from any of it.

The intruder waved a hand in front of my face to get my attention. "Hermione! Didn't you hear me?" Oh, it's just Ginny. She peered anxiously at me, her hair a fiery cloud around her face. There were dark circles under her tired eyes and her freckles stood out sharply against her pale skin. I sat up, frowning, concerned to see her in such a state. If there was anybody at Hogwarts who almost constantly bubbled over with cheeriness and vitality, it was Ginny Weasley, and right now she seemed most unlike herself. "The whole House is a mess," she informed me, answering my question before it had had a chance to pass my lips. Her voice was hoarse, as if she had spent hours shouting. "They've been fighting all night, trying to decide if they should kick you out of here or not. Everyone seems torn between Ron and Neville."

"Neville? Did he take my side?" That was quite surprising, considering the not-insignificant involvement you had with the destruction of his family. I thought that he, more than anybody else, had the right to be angry with me for protecting you. Ginny smiled faintly.

"Well, you know Neville, Hermione. He knows what Bellatrix has done, but he also knows you, and he knows better than to condemn you for her crimes." She fixed me with a suddenly stern look, reminding me strongly of Mrs. Weasley. I shrunk back a bit, suddenly wary. "I agree with him, of course, but we'll need to hear your reasons for this. You're smart, Hermione, and I'm sure you didn't just blunder into something this serious."

I nodded, surprised and gratified to have the support of at least two Gryffindors, particularly two that have led the House against Snape and the Carrows all year with me, Ron and Harry away from the castle. Their opinions were very meaningful, and their steadfast support and friendship was much more than I had dared to hope for after Ron's declaration last night. "Thank you, Ginny. Just… thanks."

She blushed slightly and smiled, her eyes now warm and sparkling just like her mother's. Ah, now here's the Ginny I know. "That's what friends are for, yeah?" She reached over and playfully punched my arm, the way I had seen her do with her brothers countless times. It felt nice to be able to slow everything down and hang out with Ginny again like we always had at the Burrow; the war had torn away even my friendship with the youngest Weasley.

"So, who's on what side?" I asked, trying to sound casual, as if this matter was nothing more than a mild curiosity. Unsurprisingly, she didn't buy it, and rolled her eyes.

"Smooth, Hermione. The younger kids who never really knew you well agree with Ron, and they all think you betrayed us. Same with anybody whose family was attacked by the Death Eaters, even if it wasn't Bellatrix personally." My shoulders slumped; after such a brutal war, that was just about everybody. "There are a few of the older students who side with me and Neville, but like I said, we all want to hear your reasons for protecting her. Everyone's trying to hear out both sides, but then they get lazy, and they all just turned to Harry for an answer." She sighed. "Well, you can see their thinking, I guess. You know, they all think he's their leader and savior after killing Voldemort, so they'll side with him. But Harry didn't have anything to say, he went up to bed right after you left."

"He _what_?" I clenched my wand hard in my fist, furious. What was he playing at, refusing to say anything about this mess? How could he leave me to stew in this mess by myself? If he had vouched for me, taken just a few minutes to explain, I wouldn't have to deal with the entire school hating me. I didn't need to hear it from Ginny to know that this was how everything would play out; the Hogwarts rumor mill moved notoriously quickly and once the other students got wind of this, they would turn against me as well. "He was there, though, in the hospital wing. He heard everything, all the stuff that we said to McGonagall about the plan, he knows everything that I need to tell you. He… he…" Ginny put a hand on my arm, looking sympathetic.

"I know, Hermione, it wasn't fair at all for him to do that. If he had stuck up for you, everybody would trust you, but instead they listened to Ron and think you're selfishly protecting a murderer for your own gain. Which is ridiculous, really," she added fiercely, "because everyone knows that there's nothing at all to gain from hanging around Death Eaters. Of course there has to be more to it, it just doesn't make any sense."

I took a deep breath. "Well, a lot of this has to do with that law that the Ministry passed, Ginny. You know, that one-"

"-Where innocent Muggle-borns, who have just been hunted down and persecuted by the Ministry, are being forced to marry Death Eaters, who just spent a year torturing and killing them for fun? Yes, I was there when Kingsley told you about it, remember? It was in the Daily Prophet the other day, did you read the article?" I shook my head slowly, wary of the kind of twist the Prophet would put on the story to try to sell it to the public. There was no way a hare-brained scheme like this would be accepted, none at all. Then again… they had accepted the Muggle-born Registration Commission with no problem, hadn't they? Ginny continued, her voice gentle, clearly noticing my distress. "Well, it had some new clauses that Kingsley didn't mention before, probably stuff that he added after he announced it. There are parts that are supposed to help protect you and the other Muggle-borns, but of course, these people are criminals. Breaking laws has never stopped them from hurting people before," she admitted.

She paused, screwing up her eyes in concentration as she tried to remember what the article had said. After a moment, she seemed to remember, continuing in a solemn voice. "For example, they'll send a Ministry representative to the couple's home every month for the first five years of the marriage, where they'll talk to both of them and make sure the Muggle-born isn't hurt. If she is, the Death Eater will be convicted of domestic abuse, and they'll serve time in Azkaban just as anyone else would. If the bride dies, or mysteriously disappears, then the Death Eater will get the Dementor's Kiss." The words seemed to linger ominously in the air long after she said them, silence falling in the small dormitory. The Kiss was certainly not something to be issued lightly, and even the threat of it showed that the Ministry of Magic meant business.

At last, I cleared my throat and spoke. "But suppose something happens to the Muggle-born, like some kind of accident. Will the Death Eater get the Kiss if she dies without him doing anything to her?" As little as I wanted to defend them, I didn't want such a fate bestowed on anyone as a result of their wife falling off a broom, for example. But Ginny shook her head, her long fiery hair whipping around her face.

"They'll use Veritaserum to find out what happened, in every case. The Death Eaters are getting a great deal with this law, being kept from Azkaban just by treating one woman as a bloody human being for once," she said bitterly, and I had to agree. "But, anyway, they changed it somewhat so that you should be safer now, if not any happier. But what does this have to do with you suddenly marrying Bellatrix Lestrange? I thought you would be with Malfoy, I thought they had arranged that one as an example?"

I sighed, then pulled the curtains apart for a moment to make sure that Ginny and I were quite alone in the dormitory. The fewer people that knew the details of our plan, the better. "I'll tell you and Neville all of this at the same time, it'll be easier. But- wait, where are you going?" Ginny had thrown back the curtains suddenly and jumped out of the bed, leaving me dazzled by the sudden sunlight pouring in once more.

"Well, I have to go get Neville, don't I? We're settling this right now, Hermione, this can't just wait until later." With that, she swept out of the room, leaving me staring at the closed door in bemusement. I slid out of bed myself, snatching up my beaded handbag from the nightstand and digging around for a change of clothes. By the time Ginny reentered the room with Neville in tow, I had changed from yesterday's wrinkled outfit into a new set of robes and was dragging a brush through my stubbornly knotted hair. Ginny threw herself lazily onto my bed again, sprawling out leisurely, while Neville perched himself carefully on Lavender's bed, looking nervous and uncomfortable at being in the girl's dormitory.

I carefully put down the brush, feeling their eyes on me, and nudged Ginny until she sat up and made room for me on my own bed again. It was Neville who broke the silence, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep, steadying breath. "All right, Hermione. Ginny and I trust you, we really do, but I think we deserve to know just what's going on here. You know what that… _woman…_ is, you don't need us to remind you why the rest of the House has a problem with you marrying her. We want to hear why, and we want to hear it from you." Ginny nodded in agreement, and the pair stared at me expectantly.

I remembered what McGonagall had told us, the lie we would have to sell to Kingsley and the Ministry to get them to allow us to marry in the first place. It needed to start right now, right here with Ginny and Neville. "Well, the thing is, guys… I'm marrying Bellatrix because…" I looked down at my feet, unable to meet their searching gazes. "I love her," I mumbled. I could feel a flush spreading across my face and refused to look back up until someone spoke. The moment stretched on and on, until…

"No you don't," Ginny said bluntly. "That's complete rubbish."

I looked back up at her, frowning and trying to appear indignant. "No, its not. It's completely true. I'm marrying her because we want to be together, that's why she asked for me a few days ago, when the Order had her locked up. I promised that I would do anything I could to help her, and this is what it came down to. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I- I've made my decision a long time ago. I can't help how I feel," I finished, crossing my arms resolutely across my chest. I felt distinctly proud of myself for spewing all of that out without thinking of a speech beforehand, as I had planned to do for when I broke the news to Kingsley. But Ginny laughed, and Neville shook his head with a grin.

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione." Neville told me. "For one thing, you have this look on your face when you talk about her, like you were looking at something nasty."

"You don't sound happy talking about spending your life with her, the woman you love _so_ much," Ginny added with a smirk. "Besides, when exactly were you able to fall in love? When did you ever meet outside of a fight?"

"What do you like best about her? The way her face lights up when she says your name? Does she even know your name?"

"Does it bother you that she's old enough to be your mother? Or that she's a woman?"

"What's your favorite thing to do together? Have you ever gone on a date? Did she send you something for Christmas?"

"All right, all right, stop it!" I held up my hands, feeling my face burning as they continued to laugh. My grand plan had fallen to pieces almost instantly, and I had no idea where to go from here. "Fine, you caught me out, I didn't mean a word of that, obviously. It was McGonagall's idea, to say all that to Kingsley as an excuse for why I'm not marrying Draco," I explained, failing to keep a note of desperation out of my voice. Neville and Ginny stopped laughing then, looking thoughtful.

"Well, it might work, but not if your acting is so bad," Neville told me. "But you haven't told us why you're trying to protect her in the first place." Ginny nodded, and I took a deep breath. How could I even begin to explain this?

"The day after the battle, McGonagall came to find me. She told me that the captured Death Eaters were being held in cells in the Room of Requirement, and that they were allowed to talk to one person on the outside. Bellatrix had asked to see me, for some reason." I left out what Draco had told me, about how she only wanted me because she felt that I would be easily manipulated. The very thought of it made my hackles rise, and Neville and Ginny didn't need to hear about it. "Well, when I got there, the Order had beaten her within an inch of her life. I- I couldn't stand it, not even seeing someone like that in such pain, I couldn't leave her like that."

"But then she ran off," Ginny said, frowning. "She escaped and you went to find her. Did you let her go? Why did you change your mind?" Neville looked between us, gaping in surprise. He hadn't heard any of this story at all.

I shook my head. "I didn't let her leave, but she took my wand. It's.. a long story, but I got knocked out. But the Order had poisoned her before, so I went to bring her back so that she didn't die. I don't know why I did it…"

"Well, because you love her, of course. McGonagall's right, that's really the only way you can sell this to the Ministry. So you saved her, but why marry her? Why keep protecting her?" Neville asked, frowning. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head, how he struggled to hear me out while battling his hatred for you. He wanted to keep me as a friend, but nobody who protected his enemies was a friend of his. I needed to make my point, and quickly.

"Bellatrix offered that I married her instead, in the hospital wing. She said that she had been raised expecting to marry someone she hated, but Draco wasn't, so it would be easier on her than on him. But she also said…" It wasn't nearly as awkward to say this to my friends as it was to say to Draco's face, but the moment was nonetheless uncomfortable. I stared down at my hands in my lap, refusing to meet their eyes. "She also said that if I marry Draco, I would be expected to have kids with him. That's… really all she needed to say. I don't want to be forced to sleep with someone, I really don't."

Ginny nodded, looking concerned but understanding, but Neville had turned bright pink and looked down at his hands as well. The last thing he wanted was to talk about anything related to sex with two girls, especially while sitting in the forbidden girl's dormitory. His discomfort somehow made me feel better about the whole situation, until I remembered what both Draco and Ron assumed after hearing what I just said. "I'm not gay, though," I added quickly, and watched as Neville's shoulders slumped in relief. He had been bracing himself to ask, I could now see, and I had spared him the embarrassment. "I won't be sleeping with Bellatrix either, that's not the point of this."

"But, you'll have to tell Kingsley otherwise," Ginny pointed out. "If you really loved her, you would want to be with her like that, in _every_ way…" Neville and I stared at her in horror. Merlin's beard, she was right. How was I supposed to pull this mad scheme off now?

"But you won't have to have a baby, Hermione," Neville said quickly. "You can't, there's not much anyone can do about that. So there's nothing to prove that you two… you know… and nothing to prove that you didn't. And it's not like someone will be watching you, they'll never find out." He crossed his arms resolutely, his face still pink.

Ginny threw up her hands in exasperation. "Oh, stop it, you two. This is exactly why we didn't believe that you love her, Hermione. You can't look so disgusted talking about this kind of stuff, or even look uncomfortable being around her. You'll need to put on a perfect act, all the time, if you want to pull this off, otherwise you won't get married and Bellatrix will be sent to Azkaban."

I shook my head. "No, not sent to jail, she'll be killed. I-" I swallowed, trying to compose myself. "I don't want her to die, not when I can save her. I wouldn't want to be responsible for it, guys, and I really couldn't explain why. But I can stop this and I will, I have to."

Neville's voice was surprisingly gentle. "She doesn't deserve to live, Hermione, she-"

I cut across him, far angrier than I had intended. "You haven't seen what I've seen of her, Neville. When she ran off, I went into the Forbidden Forest to get her, and we… talked. Nobody but us knows what it was about, and that's what McGonagall wants us to play up when talking to Kingsley."

Neville looked somewhat taken aback, but not angry. Ginny took my hand and squeezed it. "That's it, Hermione. You need to act like that, like you care about her, and the rest will come much easier." She paused, looking thoughtful, then a mischievous smile spread across her freckled face. "I've got the perfect solution. Just take a love potion right before you talk to Kingsley."

Neville looked delighted. "That's great, Ginny! Oh, how did we not come up with that before?" But I shook my head.

"Love potions are too obvious, they only create lust," I reminded them impatiently. The idea had occurred to me as well, but I discarded it after only a moment, recalling how bizarre I had behaved on a love potion a few days ago. I shuddered at the memory. _Never again_, I promised myself.

Ginny looked impatient too. "Well, of course they do, the really strong ones are too obvious. But a weaker one will just create affection," she explained. Neville looked hopeful, watching us carefully.

I shook my head again. Honestly, doesn't anybody around here _read_? "I've never seen that anywhere, Ginny. Either the potion works or it doesn't, it's impossible to determine the strength before the user actually drinks it. And you can't wait for it to wear off a bit and then have me talk to Kingsley, because it all comes off at once. Either you're over the moon about someone, or you feel the same way as you did before, and-" Ginny cut me off by clapping a hand over my mouth, fixing me with a glare.

"All right, Miss Smarty-Pants, but I didn't finish. You can make a weaker love potion, I've been working with Fred and," she paused, her eyes filling with tears as she recalled her dead brother. Neville got off Lavender's bed to hug her, her hand still over my mouth. The poor Weasleys had lost two sons in a week, and here I was planning to marry a Death Eater instead of mourning them properly. I lowered my head, ashamed of myself, but Ginny grasped my chin and forced me to look up at her again. Her brown eyes sparkled with unshed tears, but blazed with confidence.

"I've been working on one, on what they were going to market as a friendship potion. They wanted to use it for stuff like getting teammates to get along during practices and matches, or something like that, but it would work just fine for this situation too. I know it would, Hermione. We've tested it and it works, it creates fondness rather than lust. You won't have to act when you take it." I sighed, seeing no way out. Loath as I was to use any product intended for a joke shop to help arrange my wedding with a demented Death Eater, this potion was probably the only way follow McGonagall's plan, and to convince Kingsley to let me marry you rather than Draco.

Ginny moved her hand away and looked at me expectantly. "All right, I'll do it," I sighed. She smiled, and she and Neville stood up.

"Well, that's settled then," she said lightly. "We'll have to get Bellatrix to cooperate, though, we'll need her hair or something so that the potion can have you fixate on her. Then, you can just take it right before talking to Kingsley, and you won't look like you're about to throw up just thinking about her."

Neville nodded. "Glad this is all settled, then," he said, rather gruffly. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and I could see that he was still struggling to come to terms with what was happening here. The two exited the room, and I slumped back down onto the bed and groaned. A friendship potion, honestly…


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Well, I just went through the first ten chapters to make corrections, and that was pretty rough, and not just from the typos. I kept changing verb tense even in the middle of a single sentence, it was pathetic… But now I've done my best to improve my writing and present you (finally) with a new chapter. As I've said before, I'm really struggling with this story, and to be honest I'm not at all happy with my characters. Maybe I'm not cut out for writing long stories; Haunted was all character development and little action while this story is the opposite, and now I'm stuck with this plot using bad characters. Hopefully, this chapter can work through that a bit, but it was hard to get it out. Like the last chapter, this one is nearly twice as long to make up for the long break. Lyrics are from Pet by A Perfect Circle.**

**-Ophelia**

_I'll be the one to protect you from_

_Your enemies and all your demons_

_I'll be the one to protect you from_

_A will to survive and a voice of reason_

_I'll be the one to protect you from_

_Your enemies and your choices, son_

_They're one in the same_

_I must isolate you_

_Isolate and save you from yourself_

_Swayin' to the rhythm of the new world order_

"Good evening, Bellatrix." I took a seat at your bedside, careful to keep my voice and face as neutral as possible. I wanted to get through this quickly, with as little conflict as possible. Fleur had been released from Madam Pomfrey's care the day after Bill's death, leaving you and me alone in this room. No witnesses, just the way you liked it.

"When am I getting out of here?" Well, there goes getting off to a pleasant start for once. You sat up in your bed, glaring at me as though it was entirely my fault that you were still confined to it. You had been pronounced fully healed a while ago, but Professor McGonagall had insisted that you stay here, where you would be kept safe from the Order and the rest of the school would be kept safe from you. Since you and Greyback escaped the prisons within the Room of Requirement, Kingsley had ordered the security on the remaining few Death Eaters to be further tightened, and was easily persuaded that you were more secure here. Yes, I had been the one to bring you here, but this had been a decision that I had been slowly coming to regret more and more.

"Look, you can be here or chained to that wall again, your choice," I snapped. Merlin, it never took long for me to lose my composure around you, but I think this might be a new record. Talking to Neville and Ginny took more out of me than I would have expected, and the walk through the Common Room to get down to the hospital wing felt like running the gauntlet. By the time I could summon the energy to enter the ward and deal with you again, night had fallen. Madam Pomfrey let me in only because McGonagall had told her that I would need to visit you often, otherwise she surely would have made this wait until morning. You scowled at me, then opened your mouth to retort, no doubt outraged at being shown such disrespect by a lowly Muggle-born. I cut you off, exhausted and impatient. "Or, if you don't like either of those, I can just stand aside and let the Order execute you."

To my surprise, this did not silence you as I had hoped. You leaned in, the scowl still firmly in place. "Empty threat, girl. We both know that. You won't let them kill me if you can stop it, it would be as if you killed me yourself. You're too weak," you hissed, your face inches from mine. It was most uncomfortable being this close to you, your breath washing over my face with each word, but to back away would be to back down. I held my ground, jaw clenched, and watched as your scowl twisted into a smirk. You were remembering the night you had tortured me, how you had gotten in my face and insulted me then, just as you were now. You did not need to hurt me now; the memory was in place and even though I was perfectly safe here I felt threatened by your very presence. I squirmed uncomfortably and your eyes flashed with glee. "What's the matter, Hermione?" you crooned in a sickly sweet voice. Despite my best efforts, I could not suppress a shiver at hearing my name uttered in your voice. "Not afraid, are you? It's just me, your darling fiancée…"

I wrenched myself away, positioning the chair further from the bed as you laughed maniacally. Damn you, I should have known that there was no way to win this one. You grinned cheekily at me, delighted to see me hurt and upset by mere words. I want to slap it off your face. For the first time since I saw you in the Room of Requirement, I want to see you hurt again, even worse than before. Gone was the weak and wounded witch who I had painstakingly healed; gone was the witch who sobbed and begged for death in the Forbidden Forest; gone was the witch who I had promised to help. Here in front of me, right now, was the infamous Death Eater who had terrorized the country for so long. You lay comfortably in the bed, still wearing that manic grin of yours, your eyes glinting with their usual cruelty. I hated you more than anything in the world being that moment, and I hated myself for having been so foolish and gullible as to agree to help you. Who was I kidding? You weren't worth saving; you weren't worth the slightest effort to provide protection. I had been too proud to admit that I was wrong, but I could see it plainly now.

I stood to leave, furious with myself and with you. How could I have let it get this far, let all of this happen? I should never have listened to you at all, should have walked straight out of your prison the moment I saw you. Your grin slid off your face, and I turned away from you and began walking away. "And just where do you think you're going?" you demanded imperiously. I didn't make the mistake of turning back like I always had before, but stopped walking.

"I'm leaving, Bellatrix. I've had enough of you. This whole time, I've been trying to decide if you were even worth saving. You just answered that question for me. You aren't."

"What? You can't do that! You said you would help me, you promised! Is the word of a Mudblood worth nothing, then? I should have figured." I could easily hear the sneer in your voice, but there was a certain desperation beneath it. Good. I wanted to hear you beg for your life, beg me for forgiveness, but your insufferable arrogance would never allow it. I've never wanted such subservience, nothing like that, but you seemed to bring out the very worst in me. I kept walking, ignoring your shouts of "Oathbreaker! You promised, you fucking liar!"

For a brief moment I badly wanted to turn around to see the look on that stupid proud face of yours, but pushed it back down. I needed to be calm and emotionless just then, I needed to distance myself from you while I still could. "Back in the forest, you wanted to die. You got your wish. Isn't that just what you wanted?"

I continued walking then, hoping to leave before I heard your response. The torches set in the wall sconces blew out as I walked past each empty bed, shrouding you in darkness where you sat alone behind me. I had reached the door and had a hand on the knob, ready to leave you to your fate, when you finally responded. "No." Your voice was tiny and weak, like a frightened child. Barely above a whisper, I rather doubted that you had meant for me to hear it at all, or had imagined that I could do so from across the room. The sound, the single syllable, seemed to hang in the air as I waited for you to say more. You didn't, and it wasn't hard to recognize this as a sign of defeat. Merlin, this wasn't what I wanted to hear at all; I felt so much more comfortable seeing you as the villain.

I released the doorknob and turned back to you. I couldn't make out your lonely figure in the dark, but a muttered "_Incendio_" reignited the torches. You were sitting up in bed, blankets clutched tightly around you as you gazed back at me with wide eyes. I took a deep breath, trying to control myself. I couldn't let my emotions get away from me this time; I had to remember why I had walked away and why that was the right thing to do. Wasn't it? "No… what? What are you talking about?" I asked, stepping away from the door in spite of myself. I should have left then, I had to get myself out of there, but I couldn't bring myself to turn away from you.

You looked away from me and down at your hands. "No… this isn't what I wanted. I don't want to die, Hermione Granger." The malice had left your voice when you said my name that time, everything had left it. You sounded flat and dead, just like you had in the forest. I cautiously walked towards you again, waiting for the first sign of another one of your infamous rages. It didn't come, surprisingly, and I sank back into the chair without you even looking up at me.

"You don't?" You shook your head, your lips pressed tightly together. "You wanted to in the forest, after I healed you. I had to drag you back here," I reminded you.

You closed your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. "I wanted to be dead, yes, I did… That was… difficult. Talking about… about the Dark Lord… a-and me…" Your voice trembled and for a moment I thought you were going to cry, but to my great relief you managed to control yourself. "He wanted me to choose between him and my sisters, and I- I couldn't do it. I should have been able to choose my family, easy, but I couldn't. I thought that if I stayed with him, kept fighting for him… he might love me back." You hung your head in shame, your shoulders slumping. "He never did, and my sisters… deserved better of me. Cissy… my little baby Cissy… sh-she needed me and I didn't care. Serving him was more important. But I'm still here, and she st-still needs her big sister, she n-needs me now…"

I watched you warily, waiting for you to realize who you were confessing this to and attack me. But you had fallen into a miserable silence, your eyes still closed. _Oh god, what do I do? I'm no good at this…_ I reached out tentatively to place my hand on your arm, unwilling to touch you but equally unwilling to go without trying to offer some form of comfort. You flinched away at the slightest pressure, and I quickly withdrew my hand. "Um, listen, Bellatrix…" _What do I say? How do I stop a lunatic from having a mental breakdown? How do I convince a Death Eater that she didn't just waste her life on a megalomaniac when that's just what she did?_ "Andromeda, uh, she told me that she still cared about you, right before she came in here to, ah, yell at you." Ok, that was not the best word choice, but what else could I call it? Whatever sisterly affection she may have felt had been quickly hidden away the moment she stepped through the door and saw you.

You buried your face in your hands, but not before I saw a tear trail down your cheek. I hadn't thought it was possible for me to feel worse, but I knew that I was only upsetting you more by trying to touch you and speak to you. _But I have to try, don't I?_ Before I could try to speak again, you answered me. "Did she? Really? Did she say it again, after what… happened here? Is she- is she still mad at me?"

The honest answer would have been an emphatic 'yes', but that would clearly be of no help now. "I didn't talk to her afterwards, I haven't seen her since then," I told you, truthfully. Since the encounter here, Andromeda Tonks appears to have departed from Hogwarts, presumably to care for her orphaned infant grandson. Several minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, and I recalled what you had done as your sister shouted at you. Oh god, were you doing that again now? You had retreated into your mind and blocked her out, but I needed you to listen to me tonight. I couldn't leave this place without reaching an understanding with you, and I didn't want to stay too long. I could feel fatigue settling into me, and the numerous empty beds around the ward were looking more and more inviting as time went on. I couldn't sleep with you in the room, no number of wards would keep me safe if you were intent upon hurting me. No, we needed to finish this now. _Please, Bellatrix, come back here. Pay attention._

As though you had heard my silent plea, you finally responded. "I've destroyed my family," you reflected somberly. "I threw them all away.. for him." Yes, you did, but there was no way I would agree with this when you were in such a delicate mood. There was no knowing what would trigger another bout of violence from you, and I certainly didn't want to set you off with nobody here to calm you down.

Another awkward silence stretched between us before I found the words that might break it. "I.. I didn't mean what I said earlier. I'll help you, I promised that I would and I'll stick to it."

"Oh sure, you'll help me, right up until you lose your temper again. I know how this will go…" you sniffed. Your voice was rather muffled from you continuing to hide your face, but the derision was unmistakable.

I stared at you in disbelief. "Until I… what? No, no way, you were the one who got angry first! Don't pin this on me, I wouldn't have tried to walk out if you weren't being so insufferable!" I exclaimed.

You dropped your hands and glared at me, your face streaked with wet lines but your eyes full of anger. "I did no such thing. I merely reminded you that you promised to marry me, and that's clearly what set you off," you replied, clearly working hard to keep your voice cool and calm. You wanted me to be the first one to yell, which would prove you right, and I had no intention of letting you wind me up to that point.

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking several deep breaths before answering. "No, that wasn't it and you know it." You raised an eyebrow, and I glowered back at you. You wanted to hear me say it; you wanted to gloat about the power you still held over me, about the fear you had instilled firmly within me. "You were trying to remind me of the night... that you tortured me," I muttered.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you replied in what might have been an innocent tone, had you been able to keep a smirk from stretching across your face. "I've tortured many people, you can't imagine how hard it is to keep track of them all. Why don't you describe it to me, help me remember…" Your smirk bloomed into an eager smile, your eyes shining now with anticipation.

I wanted to scream at you, wanted to grab the pillow tucked beneath your head and press it over your face until your voice was forever silenced, wanted to hit you, anything to relieve the rage and disgust that suddenly burned inside of me. "Go to hell," I growled. "You're completely twisted, you know that? You're an evil, vile hag, and you deserve every misfortune that ever comes your way. You make me sick." I was breathing heavily by the time I finished, as though the effort of keeping from yelling and attacking you was physically straining.

You leaned closer to me, an ominously mischievous look in your eye. "Mmm, you should know, I just _love_ hearing you talk dirty to me. You'll have to do it more often when we're married," you purred. You winked exaggeratedly, then laughed as I shoved your face away in disgust. "Oh, what's wrong, dearest? Does this bother you? Would you rather try something else? This bed is big enough for the two of us, I think," you offered suggestively, pulling back the blankets and patting the mattress beside you.

"No," I huffed, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment. "This is exactly why I tried to walk away, you know."

You shifted away from me again, tilting your head in puzzlement. "Oh come on, I was just playing. I didn't do anything like that before, I just did it now to watch you squirm. I would never actually touch a filthy Mu- girl like you."

I shook my head. "That's not what I meant. I meant, your mood swings. You're out of control, and there's no way I can handle that." You frowned, and I elaborated before you could cut me off. "Come on, even you have to notice you're doing it. Just now, you were terribly upset, then you were angry, then you were… a sadistic pig, then you started hitting on me. All within fifteen minutes. I can't deal with that, I can't. I go from wanting to protect you to wanting to hurt you myself, and that has to stop."

You looked affronted and scowled at me for a solid minute before speaking. "A sadistic pig? Is that what you think of me, then?"

"You're missing the point!" I cried, throwing my hands up in frustration. "If you want my help staying alive, and you need it, then you need to control yourself."

"Don't you think I've already been doing that?" you snapped back. "I haven't hurt you again. I haven't killed you. Hell, I even stopped calling you a Mudblood, mostly. What the fuck else do you want from me?"

"Oh, congratulations then, you're beginning to treat me like a human being. Do you want some kind of prize?"

"Yes, I do. I want the prize where you keep the Order from killing or imprisoning me," you replied seriously.

I snorted derisively. "Well, it'll take much more than that. You need to convince me for good that you deserve to live and that you're worth the effort it will take to save you. If I do this, I'll have to tie my life to yours, and I won't take that lightly."

You rolled your eyes. "Clearly there was something that convinced you that, otherwise we wouldn't even be here discussing this. Why would you agree to my plan at all if you hate me so much, hmm?"

Well, if that wasn't the million-Galleon question. "I don't really know," I admitted.

You tsked at me, shaking your head. "You'll have to do better than that. How do I know your word is good if you don't even know why you gave it? You promised to help me, but why? I have my incentives, I have things to gain from it, but do you?"

I frowned. "What, are you trying to get me to back out? Can't I just not know and go with that?" I knew even without you shaking your head that this could never be an acceptable answer; I needed something solid that would keep me committed to my promise, no matter how angry you made me. "I wanted to help just because I could. I have the power to save you, and I have to use it. I won't be responsible for your death, I won't." I had thought all of this before, among many other things, but never had I spoken them aloud. They still sounded weak to me, but you were nodding thoughtfully.

"That makes sense. Your first kill is always the hardest one, the worst one to try to pull off, I kept telling Draco that. You can want someone dead with every fiber of your being, but there's a world of difference between wanting something and getting up and doing it. Killing is a habit that is much harder to get into than the innocent ever believe. And besides," you added suddenly, "the Ministry demands that you be married to someone in the army anyways. It might as well be me, if it will help me more than any of the others. Wouldn't you want to be _helpful_, my little Gryffindor?"

I wasn't so sure of all of what you had said, particularly about referring to murder as a habit, but the majority of it made sense. There does seem to be method to your madness, after all. No, I didn't want someone to die if I could save them. Yes, I did want to be helpful, but did I want to be helpful to someone like you?

"I think you missed the point," I said slowly. "I do want to help, but I don't know if I want to help _you_ of all people. I'm not asking why I should save someone, I'm asking why it has to be you. Why do you deserve to live, after all you've done?"

You stared intently at me for a long moment, long enough for me to want to wriggle away. Your coal black eyes seemed to piece me with endless intensity as you gazed unblinkingly at me, and I struggled to keep looking right back at you. At last, you blinked and I quickly turned away and looked down into my lap. "I'll never break the law again if you marry and protect me. I swear it," you finally said.

My heat shot up at once, and I saw that you were watching me without the faintest trace of a smile on your face. You had meant what you said, you looked more solemn than I had ever seen you. I blinked several times, as if you banish this illusion and reveal a lie, but there was none. Uncertainly, I extended my hand towards you. "Then shake on it. I'll marry you and you'll follow the law. You'll never torture or kill anyone ever again." You raised your chin haughtily and squared your shoulders, evidently preparing for an unpleasant experience. You reached out and took my hand, shaking it briefly before releasing me and pulling your hand back.

"Very well, we are in agreement then. Good night," you said awkwardly, trying to dismiss me in a reasonably polite manner.

"Yeah, good night," I mumbled, taking my cue and exiting the ward. Once again, the torches extinguished themselves as I passed, but you did not speak this time.


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Why hello there, dear readers. Another month, another chapter, and another bad habit continued. Right now I'm waiting for TGCWW and Homestuck to update, so while I'm doing that I might as well give you all something for the wait as well. Hussie said to expect his update in about a week, but I have no idea when Kurai will be gracing us all with more of her writing :( Now, I would like to thank Kriszti for, as usual, motivating me to update again (read: saying nice things about my writing and kicking around ideas :D). Also, RielleB baked me some cyber cookies to feed my lifeless muse, which I really wish were real cookies but still made me smile. You should all go read their stories and send them lots of nice reviews, assuming you haven't already. Lyrics are from Planet Hell by Nightwish.**

**-Ophelia**

_Denying the lying_

_A million children fighting_

_For lives in strife_

_For hope beyond the horizon_

_A dead world_

_A dark path_

_Not even crossroads to choose from_

"I don't know, Hermione, I really don't think we can trust her on this…"

"Neville's right, you know. What's keeping her from breaking her promise? You didn't do any kind of magical bond, did you? Probably not an Unbreakable Vow, but a basic honesty charm or something?" Ginny gazed at me beseechingly, but her face fell when I shook my head slowly in response. Beside her, Neville's frown deepened. They were sitting on Lavender's bed, Neville sitting up rigidly straight while Ginny sat with her legs curled up against her chest and her head resting on her knees.

"So, you're just counting on her word on this, and that's it? It's not good enough, it really isn't." 

I sighed. Almost immediately after waking up that morning, I had been cornered in the dormitory by Neville and Ginny, demanding to know where I had vanished to the previous night. From there, they had coaxed the whole story out of me and began to scrutinize every detail of our once-private discussion. The pair had been shocked to hear me recount your outrageous mood swings, but then Ginny had fallen off the bed laughing when I grudgingly described the… ah, _suggestive_... comments you had also made. Even Neville cracked a smile despite his discomfort at finding himself once more in the girl's dormitory, and despite his understandable hesitancy to find anything you say humorous. I had blushed furiously, glowering at the pair of them as Ginny crawled back up onto the bed and they both tried to contain themselves. However, it had been the last comment you had made that night which had them the most intrigued- and the most suspicious.

"I wish you had asked one of us to come with you to talk to her," Neville said earnestly.

Ginny smirked. "Yeah, she should have. After all, how can we expect her to make rational decisions when she gets so flustered over her own fiancée talking to her, perhaps reminding her of what usually happens the night _after_-"

"Oh, stop it!" I cried, my face burning as I hid it behind my hands. Neville and Ginny burst out laughing, clutching their sides as they doubled over. After a few long moments, it became quite clear that they were having too much fun to listen to me anymore. I removed my hands to glare at them, but if they noticed me, they did not acknowledge it. It was bad enough that they found my awkward embarrassment so funny the first time I told them, but to carry on with a joke at my expense… Their laughter echoed around the small dormitory, drowning out my annoyed sighs and the impatient drumming of my fingers on the bedside table.

"Look, I know I can trust her," I said loudly. Neville stopped laughing, but Ginny let a few stray giggles slip out. Perhaps my tone was sharper than I had expected, for she gave me a reproachful look after the last of her giggling. "I know I can trust her," I repeated, now that I had their attention. "If she breaks her promise, if she hurts somebody ever again, then I won't stop the Order from killing her. She won't allow that to happen."

"She only promised not to break the law, not to stop hurting people," Neville pointed out fairly.

Ginny nodded earnestly, leaning forward towards me. "Do you really think she can't find a way to hurt somebody without the Cruciatus Curse? She was – _is_ – a Death Eater, and a damn good one. C'mon, you _know_ what she's done. She knows more than one way of destroying someone." Her gaze swept almost imperceptibly down to the scar on my neck; I would not have noticed had I not been watching her so carefully. I lightly touched the scar with my fingertips, closing my eyes. Thin and white, it was my trophy from my quality time with you at your sister's mansion. Ginny didn't need to say more, I could remember well enough how you had threatened to tear me apart with that knife, how your very presence was enough of a weapon that you hardly needed your wand to instill fear. You had held me in place, but you didn't need to, my legs were weak and my mind foggy from the pain. Oh the pain, the endless burning and stabbing and slashing that existed only in my mind… How I had longed to die, I would have done anything to make it end, anything at all. If you had first asked me to marry you right then, right as you brought your wand down and the burning began and those terrible screams were ripped from my throat, if you had said that only as your wife the pain would end… I would have said yes. I would have done it, I would have done anything for you, anything to make it stop.

I opened my eyes once more with a sudden start, as if waking from a dream. Neville and Ginny stared at me, every hint of their previous laughter wiped clean off their faces. Neville looked more solemn than I had ever seen him before, his mouth set in a hard line and his jaw clenched, his face still heavily scarred with the marks from the Carrows' many punishments. Ginny looked pale and old beyond her years, her face devoid of its usual mischievous grin. I did not doubt that I hardly looked better myself, and we all stared at each other in a heavy silence, broken only by Ginny shaking her head violently. Her face seemed to be shrouded in flames as her vivid hair whipped across it, and the sudden movement seemed to jolt life back into us.

"Just answer me this, Hermione," she whispered hoarsely. "Do you think she's changed since the end of the war? Do you think she's a better person now?"

The ashamed 'No' began to roll off my tongue when I thought better of it. "Not yet," I told her with as much confidence as I could muster. She raised an eyebrow but remained silent. "I'm saving her life, and she's spending the rest of it at my side whether we like it or not. She better shape up if she knows what's good for her." I crossed my arms and sat up straight, determined to look as serious as I felt. There were few other things that roused such conviction in me; S.P.E.W., exposing Rita Skeeter, and now saving your life. I would not be responsible for your death, I simply would not.

Neville cracked a smile, the first he had worn in several long minutes. "Well said, Hermione. That bitch may be crazy but she sure isn't stupid." Ginny frowned at him, then at me.

"I think we need a second opinion," she said, sharing a meaningful look with Neville. He nodded.

"Luna, what do you think of this?" he asked, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a Galleon, which he pressed on with his thumb. It seemed to emit a faint blue glow for a split second, but before I could get a better look, it returned to normal, the gold glinting in the sunlight streaming in from the open window. He looked back at me and smiled, holding out the coin for my inspection. "It's the same as the Galleons you gave us back in the D.A., but with a few changes."

I turned the golden coin over in my fingers, peering closely at the edge, where I had originally enchanted the numbers to change. I felt more than just a touch of pride that they were still working with my idea long after the original D.A. had been forced to shut down and examined the Galleon eagerly to see how the system had been improved. I pulled out my wand, pointing it at the coin and muttering "_Specialis Revelio_". Neville and Ginny grinned at each other when the coin did not react in any way. I smiled too; it was impossible to resist a nice challenge like this, especially one that did not threaten my life if it wasn't solved quickly. It took a few more minutes of tinkering and half a dozen more spells to determine how the coin had been altered, and I looked back up at the pair in surprise. "It exchanges spoken messages as well as just changing the numbers on the edge, and you've put a lot of trouble into hiding the spells. So this is what you used against those Death Eaters all year? It's brilliant, it really is. You've made it into a telephone."

Neville frowned. "A what?"

Ginny laughed, shaking her head at him. "It's a Muggle communication device, Dad has one. He's very proud of it, but Mum doesn't know that it's there. He keeps it in his shed." I laughed too; that sounded just like Mr. Weasley.

Neville shrugged. "Oh, all right then. But you get what it does, then?" I nodded, and he sat up straighter, delighted to receive praise for a change. "Yeah, I thought it was brilliant too. It was my idea, so we could send longer messages."

Ginny also looked rather pleased with herself. Then her expression turned somber. "If someone got in trouble with the Carrows, they could activate the coin in their pocket so that everything that they said would be recorded without being noticed. Then they would send the message out and everyone would know exactly what happened. It's not the kind of thing you would _want_ to have to listen to, you know, but it was important."

"When Luna was captured by the Death Eaters, she had her coin on her. It looked useless, so it wasn't taken away with her wand. She kept in contact with us, and, well…" He took a deep breath, and I guessed what he was going to say before he said it.

"She recorded what she heard happen the night we were captured, didn't she?" I whispered. I felt like something ice cold was settling in my chest; the thought of the entire D.A. listening to my torture all the way to Hogwarts was nothing short of horrific. "But Luna wouldn't actually send that, she wouldn't do something like that," I muttered, more to myself.

Neville and Ginny exchanged meaningful glances before turning back to me. "She sent it as it was recording, so we heard everything in real time. She didn't know what would happen next, only that Harry was captured and there was no way out. She was looking for ideas, anything at all. She was desperate." Neville swallowed, looking uncomfortable. "She sent it to everyone at the same time, not just me and Ginny. We could all hear you screaming, it was terrible, we couldn't help…"

I closed my eyes. So, the whole D.A. had heard that, and now they knew that I was engaged to the woman responsible for it. No wonder they took this whole mess so personally. All was quiet for a few minutes while I contemplated the horrible image in my head; all of my friends listening intently to their coin and hearing my agonized shrieks coming from it. Did they hear you yelling too? Did they manage to make any plans, even a small, frantic suggestion? Luna's soft voice jerked me out of my musing.

I opened my eyes again and saw Neville holding up the coin, which was glowing red this time as Luna's voice issued from it. "We need to talk in person, I think. Why don't we go to the Room of Requirement?" The glow faded as I shook my head.

"The Room of Requirement was burned by Feindfyre, it won't be able to repair itself. We can't go there, I don't think we could even – " Neville held up a hand to stop me.

"The message ended, she didn't hear that. Hang on," he said, pressing down on the coin again. The blue glow reappeared and stayed this time. "Ok, say that again, Hermione."

I repeated myself, adding that we probably wouldn't even be able to enter the room. There was a pause after the message sent, then: "Oh, that's too bad. We can just go outside, then, it's a lovely day." I looked out the window; clouds had rolled in over the previously clear skies, dark and threatening rain. "We can go down to the lake, I wanted to say hello to the Merpeople anyway…" Her voice drifted off and the message ended. Ginny glanced out the window as well and sighed.

"Yeah, Luna, a beautiful day…" she grumbled. "Go get your cloaks, then, it looks like we'll be getting wet." She and Neville stood up, grimacing as their sore muscles stretched, and filed out of the dormitory.

The Common Room fell unnaturally silent as I descended the spiral staircase, every unfriendly eye fixed on me. Neville and Ginny came down behind me, cloaks in hand, and each put a hand on my shoulder. "Knock it off, you lot, nothing to see here," Ginny called loudly, her voice cutting through the awkward silence like a knife. The younger students turned away quickly, but the older ones threw me a final disgusted look before slowly returning to their previous activities.  
>Harry and Ron were not in the room, but the Weasleys were. To my great surprise, they too regarded me with disgust and seemed to ignore Ginny. George's hand even inched towards his wand before Charlie put a hand on his, shaking his head slightly. Only Percy looked sympathetic, but his reunion with his family was too tenuous for him to make waves just yet. "Come on," Ginny muttered to me, casting a scathing look to her siblings before we made our way through the Common Room.<p>

I turned to her as soon as the Fat Lady swung shut behind us. "Ginny, I don't want to cause trouble with your family, there's already too much going on with you," I told her sadly. She shook her head angrily, her jaw set and her expression stubborn. Her brown eyes blazed with fury.

"You're like a sister to me, Hermione. I won't abandon you, no matter what you choose. They just need to deal with that, because I'm not backing down."

Her words touched me; it felt so good to have a friend like her. Of course I loved Harry and Ron, those thick and reckless idiots, but I needed a female friend every once in a while, someone who would never judge me when I try to talk about feelings or anything besides Quidditch. I knew that Ginny felt the same way, growing up with so many brothers, and we had always relished our summers together, just us girls for once. I took her hand and squeezed it. "Thank you, Gin. That means a lot to me." She nodded tersely and we continued down the corridor. "Look, I know we have a lot to talk about, and we haven't said much about anything but the Ministry's law. If you need to talk, like about Fred and Bill, I'm always here for you."

"Me too," Neville added, moving to stand on her other side and take her other hand. "I don't have any siblings to lose, but I know how it must feel."

Ginny took a deep breath, then glanced sideways at me. "Mum and Dad don't want you at the funeral, Hermione," she said quietly.

The words hit me like a physical blow, forcing me to stop in my tracks. "They… what?"

She turned to me, her eyes glinting with unshed tears. "They think you've betrayed us, they believe Ron. They – they told me that they don't want you at the f-funeral. They're holding it next week, at Shell Cottage, where you guys put Dobby. We don't have a family p-plot. We're old enough that we should, but we couldn't a-afford it. Fleur thinks it's a very pretty spot for them to be b-buried." Tears began to fall despite herself and Neville wrapped an arm comfortingly around her shoulder.

I had to agree with Fleur; Dobby's grave was beautiful, overlooking the sea with a riot of spring flowers in bloom over him. Nature was rapidly reclaiming the spot, which was as peaceful a place as any to rest.

I told Ginny this, for she had not gone to see Dobby's grave yet. She nodded gratefully, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. Neville broke the silence after a moment. "Has there been any luck in capturing Greyback yet?" Her face darkened.

"No leads yet," she said grimly. "McGonagall managed to convince Fleur not to go after him herself, though, which she said took ages. You know how she is, all feisty, she didn't want to give up the fight. None of us did, but McGonagall talked us down too. Only trained Aurors are out looking for him."

She began walking again, as though agitated at being kept from a perfectly good fight. Neville and I hurried to keep up as we made our way down the moving staircases. The inhabitants of the paintings did not whisper to themselves as we passed by, and I was grateful that Ron's rumors had not yet reached them. "Funny thing is," she continued, "all the other Death Eaters were riled up that he escaped. They don't seem to think much of him. Everyone who hadn't worked directly under him offered to help the Ministry track down and kill him. Even the Malfoys were all for it, and Bellatrix was furious that she couldn't fight. Seems like he didn't make many friends in the war, even among you-Know-Who's men."

By the time she had finished, we reached the Entrance Hall, which was completely empty. Ginny strode forward and pulled open the doors, then groaned. Rain was coming down in thick sheets, and there was not a trace of sunlight. As we squinted into the gloomy storm, we could make out a lone figure bouncing down the sloping grounds. It could only be Luna; nobody else would be skipping in such weather. Beside me, Neville looked mildly annoyed and Ginny looked amused. "Honestly, Luna…" she muttered, then we stepped out into the downpour.


	22. Haitus Details

**AN: All right, friends. As I've told you several times, I'm not happy with this story, and now I'm going to stop complaining and tidy it up. Before I've just gritted my teeth and kept moving forward, but all that did was make me even less satisfied and made you all wait longer and longer for updates because I was too lazy to go back and fix things. So that's what I'm doing now; I'm going back and changing the story until I'm happy with it, then I'll continue moving forward. I'm pretty satisfied with the style of writing itself, but the characters desperately need a revamp, and the plot could also use some tweaking to keep things moving.**

**What I need to do with the characters: I need to make everyone more consistent, if nothing else. I do need to get Hermione and Bellatrix more in character, but the others are all right. My main problem is that Hermione is too naive and impulsive and Bellatrix is too weak. Hermione is nothing if not smart, but I haven't shown it at all, instead trying to make her compassionate to a fault, which really suits Harry better. It's taken far too long to give her a real reason to help Bellatrix when really she should have justified her actions fully before doing anything. Next, I wanted to show Bellatrix breaking down after her beloved master died, but she's just too chaotic. Her mood swings are even out of my control, and she cries too easily, which makes it far less powerful than it should have been if she just was seen crying once, as I intended. So, I need to go back and change these two idiots until I'm happy working with them again.**

**What I need to do with the plot: I mostly just need to give the whole story a sense of urgency. The past several chapters have been all dialogue, and there's no rush. The castle is in ruins, Death Eaters are still waiting in chains to hear their fate, there are two Weasleys to be buried, and Bellatrix has a death sentence over her head. Yet everyone is just sitting around talking to Hermione, and not doing much else. This should be simple: I'll just have the Ministry set a date for the wedding when Kingsley tells Hermione about it. That way she has to get things moving by that day. Really, the only action I had was killing Bill, and between this story and The Hard Way I think I just keep spontaneously killing people off because I like to describe the corpses, which doesn't really help the plot much. So, things need to happen faster.**

**Writing all of this down was just as much to let you know what I plan to do as it was to help me figure out what I plan to do. If I want to get my act together, it will take a while, and I can't post anything until all of it is done. Then I'll just upload the heavily edited chapters, post any new ones, and we can all get back to posting normally, and hopefully more frequently. What I need from you, readers, is just some patience. You've all been great putting up with me so far, and while I won't be posting on this story for a while, I do have other works in progress (namely, a Izumi/Lust story for Fullmetal Alchemist) and I'm not doing any overhauls on the other things that I already have up. For the few of you who liked The Kinslayer, I do plan to do a second chapter from Bellatrix's POV, but I have no idea when I'll be in the same weird mood to write it. That's all the news I have for you, so now I have some work to do. I hope you all stick around to see it when its done.**

**-Ophelia**

**Edit: 12-01-12 Hey everyone, I know its been ages since I posted this but even after all this time I've only finished the first ten chapters, and chapter eleven is where I think things start to go wrong. I have a lot of work done but still have 50 pages left to edit, and on top of reworking the characters I have been rewriting everything in third person instead of first and second, which I only did in the first place because I'm too lazy to deal with pronouns in femslash smut scenes. I hate to do this but I still need to ask for your patience, and hope that I can get more work on this done, especially with the holiday break coming up. I have not been so diligent on working while I was getting used to being at college, but my goal is to get this done by Christmas.**


	23. Abandonment DetailsPlot Summary

**AN: It's been about two years since I have put this story on hiatus, and as I'm sure most of you have assumed by now, I have abandoned it. I want to thank those of you who have read (and especially reviewed) this while I was actively writing it, as I certainly would not have gotten as far into it as I have without you. At some point, I was writing more to please my readers than to please myself, which is perhaps one of the reasons why I was so displeased with the results**

**My reasons for officially abandoning this story are mainly the same as the ones I had for putting it on hiatus, and I really don't think I can salvage this plot or these characters. While it was an interesting experience to see how the characters seemed to act on their own, with me writing down words that seemed to come on their own to craft a plot that I never intended, the fact remains that these actions backed me into a corner, yet somehow while leaving a story that hardly seems to have any action at all. In addition, I'm simply not much of a fan of Bellamione anymore. This ship is extremely abusive (which I'm sure you already knew, and I knew, but I haven't got a hope of justifying it anymore) in any context, and really I got involved with it in the first place because I thought the smut was hot (which it still is)**

**I have mostly stopped writing, although I do have two Harry Potter one-shots that I have posted since putting itDotN on hiatus: This is War and Blood Ties. I'm considerably more pleased with those two than I am with this story, or with Haunted, for that matter. I think I can see that I am not well cut out for writing longer stories, as I am simply too impatient to properly plan one out. I will post here the entirety of my plotline planning, so that you may see the story that could have been, and probably understand why it crashed and burned with no other structure**

Plot ideas (last edited June 15, 2012):

- A search begins to capture and kill Greyback. Bellatrix offers to help, eager to attack, but is shot down. Security is further tightened around the other remaining Death Eaters. Hermione remembers that Malfoy Manor was headquarters and suspects Greyback might be there. She finally agrees to go there to look for him, and to explain her plan to the Malfoys.

- Hermione goes to Malfoy Manor and talks to Lucius and Narcissa. They are rather rude but clearly make an effort to start a good relation with their future daughter-in-law. They explain their interaction with Voldemort and how it affected them. They also add that no Death Eaters are welcome in their home, especially not Greyback. Hermione tells them about her plan and Cissy is pleased that someone is trying to save her Bella but Lucius feels angry that Draco is left hanging.

- Hermione falls asleep one night, completely drained and exhausted, and has a sex dream about Bellatrix after their wedding. She wakes up suddenly, completely disgusted, and can't fall back asleep again without thinking of it. Now she's more tired, she can't look Bella in the eye without blushing, and the readers get some smut without rushing the plot.

- Hermione reluctantly explains her plan with Kingsley, who is strangely pleased that Hermione took control of her own future but is much less impressed that she is trying so hard to save Bellatrix. He reminds her that she was sentenced to death and is annoyed that Hermione threw a wrench in the works.

- Later chapter - Bellatrix and Hermione are married with an extremely awkward and hostile ceremony. The reception is cut short by a fight between Bellatrix and Ron, who thinks she forced Hermione into this. The newlyweds head to a honeymoon cottage in a secluded forest for two weeks. They take love potions to help consummate the marriage. Smut ensues.

- Awkward honeymoon of awkwardness begins. The two are extremely uncomfortable remembering the previous night, and Bellatrix assures Hermione that nothing like that will ever happen again. Hermione wants to please her new wife to make their future smoother but Bellatrix got what she wanted and doesn't bother playing nice. Hermione spends their first day married off in the woods, contemplating her future.

- Later chapter- Someone tries to kill Hermione after she is married, then she returns home to find that Bellatrix is convinced that she was the assassin. Hermione knows this to be a lie but knows that the Ministry will punish Bellatrix if they find out what happened. She is unable to remove the memory modification and goes to the Manor. Lucius isn't home but Cissy is and she asks her to help remove the spell. She tells her that such a powerful charm on such a powerful witch had to be casted by somebody who knew her mind very well, someone like a close family member. That person must also be an extremely skilled Legilimens, which she is not, and they probably don't like Hermione or Bella. Hermione suspects Lucius...

- Next chapter- ...and confronts him when he returns to the Manor. She demands that the spell is removed and he hesitantly complies, bewildered. Eventually Bellatrix reveals that it was Andy who modified her memory and tried to kill Hermione, to the horror of all present.

- Next chapter - Hermione visits Andromeda, who flies into a Bellatrix-esque rage and needs to be restrained. She screams that Hermione betrayed her by marrying and protecting her sister after what she did to Tonks. She wanted Bellatrix dead, but the Dementor's Kiss would be the next best thing, so she set her up. Hermione is shocked and doesn't know what to do, hurt and confused but unwilling to attack Andy.

- Draco meets a Muggle-born girl and they hit it off. She ran away from home and is desperate for protection from her uncle, who is searching for her. Draco asks her to marry him to protect them both and she eagerly agrees.

- Draco and the girl get married. It is a very quick event with little pomp and ceremony, but Cissy takes the opportunity to fawn over her new daughter-in-law just as she does over her son. Lucius doesn't really have an opinion about the girl aside from "well, she's better than Granger". Bellatrix finds this amusing but Hermione does not.

- It turns out the uncle from whom Draco's bride ran away is none other than Greyback, whose brother was a Squib who married a Muggle. Draco is concerned that the Ministry will find out that his wife does have Wizarding blood and punish him and his parents for not strictly adhering to the law. Hermione notes the irony of Draco worrying that his wife's blood doesn't have enough Muggle in it. Everyone is also concerned that Greyback, who is still on the loose, will track down and attack the couple.

- Hermione is pregnant, as she unknowingly took a fertility potion as part of the wedding rituals. Bellatrix is horrified that Black blood will be mixed with her Muggle blood, creating what she considers an abomination. Hermione is more disgusted that she is carrying part of Bellatrix within herself. The marriage is not going well, but the Ministry will be satisfied with it only if she has the baby.

**Finally, I have reuploaded the chapters that I did edit, a very long time ago when I thought that this story was still worth saving. I have added a time limit for when the marriage must take place, and put the story in third person. These are the only major changes, as far as I recall. As always, I have no beta, so there may be errors there. The first 13 chapters have been edited, and most of the 14****th****, until it changes person partway through a paragraph.**

**Thank you for sticking with me so far, and I hope that I'll have more stories up here in the future**

**-Ophelia**


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